


Atonement

by Laurieficent



Category: Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurieficent/pseuds/Laurieficent
Summary: This story focuses on the interactions between the protagonist and Tharaêl. I didn’t really want to write a complete game fiction, so I’m leaving out the parts of the story where Tharaêl isn’t involved, though quests are heavily discussed. I also created some additional quests involving Tharaêl, to help him out more after the end of his story.I am so moved by the writing of Nicolas Lietzau, who wrote the story for Enderal. This pales in comparison to the beautiful dark depths of his writing. I feel it's a tribute to his character Tharaêl, who I found very inspirational. I decided to dive a little deeper into his character, and give him more of a future than we get to see in the game. I hope you like it.There is romance in this story, but it’s long in coming, as anything else would just feel out of place and wildly inappropriate. That’s not to say there aren’t heartwarming or heartbreaking moments along the way...





	1. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginnings are hard. True for both my first chapter, and our protagonist Lyria.

Malphas flowers. The sweet, relaxing scent wafted around Lyria’s nostrils as she stood at the edge of the treeline looking out over the fertile fields sprawling out into the distance. She stared at the large statue rising out of Ark and looming over the city, wondering at its significance. An ocean breeze washed over her as she walked closer, gull cries echoing in the cool early morning air. Next to her walked Jespar, the humorous treasure hunter who offered to help resolve the fever she’d had since waking up. He’d been quite gracious to her despite her difficult to believe sob story of arriving on Enderal. He hadn’t even mentioned the scars or tattoos covering her face, though he did look at her questioningly when she took the bright yellow scarf he offered her and completely covered her face up to her eyes, tucking it away under the hood she wore. 

Walking in silence, Lyria reflected on the horrors in her life over the past few years. Most recently, her heart mourned the loss of her friend Sirius. He was the first person who didn’t try to take advantage of her under the guise of ‘helping.’ Hell, she’d loved him for it, though she never got the chance to tell him. She’d had grand plans for once they got to Enderal, but all of those washed away before she’d even arrived. She still couldn’t quite believe she’d actually survived being bound and tossed into the ocean, still half wondering if this had all been a dream.

Upon entering the city of Ark, she was a little surprised when Jespar left her to go attend to some errands. Lyria decided to wander around and explore the city. Merchant stands were just setting up shop for the day, and the sights and smells of the food stalls brought a smile to her face, reminding her of the few good times she’d had in Ostian. She bought a couple loaves of bread, and it was as good as the silly woman made it out to be. She stopped by a few other stalls, striking up conversation with the merchants, and selling some of her looted items to those interested. The bank was of particular interest, and the banker persuaded her to hand over some pennies to open an account. It gave her a future to think about, along with the idea of home ownership, as she’d learned of two houses to check out.

Curious about the rest of the city, Lyria pushed open one of the gates leading to the Noble’s Quarter. Jespar had not been lying when he told her to expect some disapproving looks. Everyone was so snobbish. But she didn’t let them stop her from wandering along next to the river and perusing the fancy shops. She decided her favorite was Gaboff’s, as he was so easy going, and wanted to buy some of the nicer artifacts she’d found. He even asked her to bring more things to him in the future. 

Lyria wandered around the district for a while, checking out the various establishments. She even found a terrible but hilarious poet, and stood listening to him for some time. The man was a fool, but the deluded Noble residents seemed to find him quite entertaining.

Feeling the need to rest her feet after walking all night and well into the morning, she sat down on a bench in front of a boarded over well, across from the theatre. The poor beggar who seemed to claim the area as his territory sat down next to her, and they chatted for a bit. He told her what life was like as a beggar in Ark, and Lyria told him about her time in Nehrim begging food from others. She gave him a few coins and a chunk of the bread she bought. He thanked her profusely, and they ate together, with Lyria carefully tearing off bite-sized pieces and nibbling them from under her scarf. Between bites, the beggar casually asked her about slavery in Nehrim. Lyria openly flinched. 

To buy herself more time to answer, Lyria took a deep sigh and stretched her arms up and behind herself, leaning back over the well. Then she felt her backpack catch on the wood. She rolled over to free it, but the movement wriggled one of the boards loose which was holding her weight. Panicking, she grasped for anything to catch her, but all she caught was another loose board as her body gracelessly tumbled ass over end downward into the darkness of the well. Clutching dearly to the loose board in her hands as she fell, Lyria saw the beggar man’s head appear at the top of the well and shout down to her, before she landed on her back with a thud. She felt pieces of wood falling on top of her.

“Oy, what’s that!?” a man’s voice shouted from nearby.

Lyria quickly scrambled upright and pulled a dagger from her belt, readying some lightning as well. It was her favorite of the few spells she’d learned.

A highwayman strolled into the room, took one look at her feeble attempt at crouching in the corner, and drew his weapons to attack. She lit him up with the lightning, which seemed to take him by surprise, though he still walked toward her. He swung, but she dodged, catching him in the armpit with her dagger. He winced, just long enough for her to finish electrocuting him. He fell to the ground, the smell of burnt flesh permeating the air.

She looked around. Surely someone must have heard that. But she heard no more voices. Squinting up to the bright top of the well, Lyria could just see the beggar man. He was waving frantically and yelling something, but she couldn’t understand him. There seemed to be a wooden ladder leading up to the surface, but her falling had broken off enough pieces to render it useless. 

With a sigh, Lyria turned and cautiously walked into the next room. She found some chests to loot as payment for dealing with the ruffian. As she continued her way, she encountered several more miscreants that weren’t interested in talking. Finishing them off in similar fashion as the first, Lyria eventually found herself at a more acceptable part of town. Not wanting to be recognized later, she pulled her scarf more securely over the lower part of her face. Combined with her hood, people would only be able to see her bright blue eyes and pale gray skin with enough ambient light.

Lyria made note of posters on the walls for fighting in some kind of pit, as well as excessive advertising for what appeared to be a brothel. She made note to avoid that establishment, after having less than pleasant past experiences with such places.

She noticed masked men in quality armor that seemed to be running the place, even overhearing one hassling a beggar for some kind of ‘protection’ money. She figured she should do her best to avoid them. Lyria also noticed some stairs leading up, and hoped that upwards would lead her back out of the Undercity. She saw what appeared to be a tavern with red lanterns lining the entry, and hesitantly opened the door. She took a few steps down the entry stairs and froze. The odor of body fluids and sweat assaulted her senses, along with scantily clad women dancing provocatively made her realize she was deeply mistaken.

Realizing this was the brothel she’d seen all the flyers for, Lyria turned quickly and went back out the way she’d come in, half running up the hill to her right and pushed through a door. She was met with the sight of a strange tree with papers hanging off of it like ornaments. Lyria slowed to a normal walk again. There were people just sitting around, clearly not interested in attacking her. She calmed herself and decided to explore the area a bit. She saw several people walk through an unmarked door on the far side, and felt curious.

Upon entering, Lyria realized she’d found the fighting pit advertised in the signs. Blood, sweat and dirt permeated the room. Along with cheap beer being sloshed around by the patrons. It sounded like there was an active fight, so she made her way to a balcony. It looked like a couple of amateurs. Only one of them had a weapon. It hardly seemed fair, but she figured they must have signed up for it.

Suddenly a man bumped into her, roughly. “Hey!” she protested. She looked up at his imposing frame. He was a middle aged Endralean, with two war axes strapped to his belt. His graying hair stood out against his dark skin. Obviously not an Undercity resident, then. His most defining feature was his large, bushy horseshoe mustache.

The man looked down at her with a scowl. “Spoiled cunt,” he spoke with a slight rumble. “Get outta my way!” He shoved her aside.

A heavily armed man watched this interaction and approached the two. “Is this woman bothering you, mysir?” He asked the towering man.

“Yeah, she is. Said she can’t wait to get down in the pit.”

“What, no, I-” she wasn’t allowed to finish.

“Is that so? Well, you don’t have to wait any longer. Next fight’s up soon, and you just became the fourth member. Ha!” he bellowed out a laugh. Then he reached out and grabbed Lyria by the arm and started dragging her with him. He presented her to an Aeterna woman sitting on some crates. “Found a last minute sign-up Rasha!” he gleefully exclaimed, all the while digging his fingers painfully into Lyria’s arm.

“Well, I suppose you’re in time to join. Here, sign this. If you can’t read, just sign with a cross.” Rasha shoved a document at her. “Also, what do you want the crowd to shout out and cheer you on should your fight end with victory?”

“I’m not one for stage names, sorry.”

“Nameless One it is!” Rasha beamed, seemingly pleased with herself. “Now, go warm up downstairs. The fight will start shortly.”

“What if I just leave?” she asked shyly.

Rasha snorted. “Then I guess you get to pay dues, or deal with the Rhalâta. Look, I don’t know what you did, but fighting through the pit is much more survivable than facing the Rhalâta. Your choice.”

“Fine.” Lyria read the document, which basically stated that she might die. She signed with a cross anyway, and handed it back. The man holding her arm escorted Lyria down the stairs. Some urchin boys were in the pit dragging away bodies and boxing up valuables which had been stripped off the unfortunate.

When it came time for the next fight, the man unlocked the door and roughly shoved her in with a wicked, “good luck, sunchild.”

Lyria readied her knife and lightning while the announcer called out the fighters’ names. She sized up the contestants. The other woman didn’t seem like she’d put up much fight. The man with the bow should go down easy if she could get in close enough. She’d have to do her best to stay away from the one in heavy armor and hit him with the magic from a distance. She was not equipped to take heavy blows.

Before she knew it, the fight had started.

As anticipated, the other woman didn’t last long. She had taken two arrows and a few blows from the large warhammer before she fell. Lyria ducked behind one of the fences and sent bolts of lightning at both of the men, hoping to simply weaken them before their attention turned to her. Luckily they seemed intent on killing each other first.

Lyria felt an arrow pierce her right shoulder, and she dropped her knife. Fuck! She cursed herself, and readied more lightning in her right hand. She didn’t need to use it. The large fighter, Roth, let his warhammer fall on the archer’s skull, smashing it with a sickening squishing noise. And then he turned to face her, letting out a convincing battle cry as he rushed toward her. She did her best to dodge, but he was faster than she expected. As Lyria spun around backwards, her foot caught on an old carcass that hadn’t been removed, and she fell roughly on her ass. Roth’s giant warhammer came crashing down. The world stopped, and Lyria saw blaring light all around her, devoid of noise. Her vision came back, and she was able to scramble to her feet in time to avoid a certain death blow. Barely able to think, she looked down to see blood pooling around the midsection of her armor. She needed to get out of the fight, soon.

Roth was laughing, certain of his victory. Lyria wasn’t giving up so easily. She turned her back to him and ran, as best she could, climbing up on the rocks. Roth wasn’t able to follow, and started taunting her. She didn’t mind the underhanded tactics if it meant living, and never returning to this place. She downed another mana potion, instantly feeling the fever boiling again, then blasted Roth with lightning from both hands. Unable to fight back, he started running back and forth, trying to seek shelter from her wrath. She continued, his flesh searing with every second. Finally, he collapsed.

Faintly, in the distance, she heard people cheering. The door opened, and she slowly walked through it. At the top of the stairs, she meant to make a beeline for the exit, but the crowd funneled her towards Rasha. She noticed one of the masked men talking to Rasha about money and consequences. Lyria approached cautiously.

The tall Aeterna looked down at her, as if studying her and trying to see who she was through the hood and scarf concealing her face, with only a couple stray locks of auburn hair escaping. She did her best to glare up at him. “Well fought,” he said to her, then simply walked off.

Feeling unsettled at the scrutiny in her weak state, she turned to Rasha. “Who was that guy?” she managed to get out. She barely paid any attention to Rasha’s answer, but did acquire a moderate coin purse. As she was now free to go, she took the opportunity to stumble for the door.

Lyria walked out of the pit uncertain how she was still alive. She’d used a lot of her newfound magic, and between the broken off arrow lodged in her shoulder and the serious stomach blow she’d taken, the fever left her barely able to walk. She needed help, but if she revealed her weakness, surely the average citizen would take advantage and simply rob her, at the least. She just kept walking, hoping for a way out or a shop where she could buy some potions. Lyria managed to just stumble down to what must have been the Undercity’s marketplace. She asked a vendor if he had any potions. He offered her a mana potion. She kept walking, and eventually stumbled upon a building lined with blue lanterns. It seemed so inviting in her fever-addled state, so she walked up and simply let herself in.

The dimly lit entry caused her to stop. The sudden change in momentum made her fall to her knees. A man rushed over to her and gruffly asked what was wrong. It sounded like he was talking to her through a pool of murky water. She held out her hand and made a small fireball. The man looked at it, then back to her eyes, realizing what she needed. Lyria felt a small comfort, even as the floor suddenly appeared in front of her face, and her world faded.

The next thing Lyria remembered was waking up on a floor, the sound of someone crushing ingredients together at an alchemy mortar and pestle nearby, and some whimpers from people. The scent of herbs mixed with vomit and soiled linens woke her the rest of the way. Her fever was nearly gone, though her head was pounding and her body felt like she’d been pummeled in a fight with three strangers. She groaned a bit.

“Feeling better now, eh?” the man didn’t even turn to look at her. She pulled herself up enough to lean against the wall. The room started spinning a bit, sho she closed her eyes tightly. After a few minutes she squinted up at the man.

“You helped me. I...thank you. I should, I should get up,” she mumbled out. Lyria tried standing, but failed a few times before finally righting herself. Still feeling quite dizzy, she stumbled forward. The man caught her. She reached into her coin purse she’d received from Rasha, and pulled out a large handful. “Here, please take this, with my gratitude,” she said.

The man took the offering and set it on his work table. “A paying customer? Now that’s not something you see every day. This here’s the Apothecarii house of the Undercity. You’re welcome back anytime, mydame. But if you’re well now, you should go. I don’t want you dragging in the troubles that led you here.” And with that he turned back to his table and continued grinding ingredients.

Lyria stumbled her way back out past the blue lanterns, and managed to follow the road signs this time, eventually making her way back out to the upper city, finding herself in the South Quarter. It was well into the night. Shit, she remembered Jespar was expecting her hours ago. The guards standing at the gate to the Undercity gave her disgusted looks as she emerged into the evening, but let her pass. The stark difference between the impoverished houses below and the wealth of the South Quarter made her angry, even as she savored the clear night air. But she didn’t have time to stop and muse at the injustices of the world.

She made her way as quickly as possible back to the marketplace. All the merchants had gone home for the night, and there were only a few residents mulling about. She spotted Jespar humming to himself at the well. Lyria walked over to him, thinking of ways to summarize her day as way of apology for keeping him waiting.

“Oh hey look who finally arrived! Oh, whoah, what happened to you? And, blazes, what is that smell? You reek like a dead horse in a hot barn.” He looked over her, taking in all the blood and gore she was covered in, and the tattered appearance of her previously new-looking armor. His gaze lingered at her stomach, the now-dried blood saturating the region speaking volumes.

“Long story short: I fell down a hole, got shoved in a pit fight and nearly died, passed out from the fever and got nursed back to health again by the Apothecarii,” Lyria blurted out. It didn’t seem so bad when she glossed over the details.

“Wow. Well seems like you’ve had an exciting introduction to Ark. Maybe I shouldn’t have left you to wander on your own... how’s your stomach?” Jespar seemed genuinely concerned for her.

“I’ll live. It’ll be sore for a few days, though. Have a few busted ribs to go along with it. Warhammer,” Lyria tried to sound tough, as if this were routine for her. Jespar seemed to see past her facade. 

“Ouch. Alright. Maybe you should stop and see a priest. Light magic works wonders, you know. But, we do need to get you cleaned up before going up to the temple. No way you’re getting in looking like that. Come here,” Jespar stood and started walking.

She followed him up to the Noble’s Quarter. He took her on a dirt path leading to the right, behind all the shops, then around behind the statue of the woman in the river. 

“Here, this is hot water flowing up from the springs below. I’ll keep watch if you want to clean up. When you’re done, put these on. And yes, they’re necessary for getting you into the temple.” He handed her some Kiléan clothes.

Lyria soaked in the refreshing waters of the Larxes for a while, dried and dressed herself, and then followed Jespar further up the hill towards the Order’s temple to discover what might become of her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, this is the first fanfiction I've ever written, and the first creative writing I've done in well over a decade. I haven't touched this in about three months, and have just been hesitating posting it anywhere due to lack of confidence, and not being entirely happy with this first chapter. Feedback much appreciated! Currently my story is a bit over 42,000 words across 30 or so chapters, though there are gaps I need to fill in as I jumped around a lot.
> 
> Also, this is kind of a super chapter. It only covered the part I’d planned, but I felt I needed to include Tharaêl in the first part, however brief, and the introduction just kept expanding with detail… speaking of which - this is pretty much how the Rhalâta quest started for me. I didn’t mean to click on the well and ended up in the sewers. Didn’t see the ladder back up the first time, so went through and ended up getting the quest for fighting in the pit. I’m annoyed by random quests staying active, so I was initially just trying to get rid of it, having no idea of the story arc it lead to. Fight was very difficult so early on, like level 6. But I figured I’d run with it, and after a few restarts, was able to get through it after realizing you can just hide for half of it. Not the most noble, but hey, it worked. It also seemed fitting for a character that had clearly been living on the streets previously. I also changed how Lyria got into the fights. I figure since everyone calls you ‘sunchild,’ they wouldn’t hesitate to throw you in just to watch in satisfaction as you get the shit beat out of you. Seemed appropriate for the universe. And mustache man will be back later.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


	2. the Second Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a bit more experience in Enderal, Lyria has started getting into dealing with more of the county’s bullshit.  
> Lyria always thought she wanted to be important, but had never faced what that would actually look like.

Lyria was pissed. Beyond that, she was enraged. She had completed her fast-tracked mage training to keep the fever under control, and had quickly become more powerful than she ever thought possible. All for Tealor to want her to be some sort of holy prophet, as if there were any better way to gain her instant distrust and disgust.

As if she’d thought that people were stuck up and full of shit in the Noble’s Quarter, they didn’t even hold a candle to the assholes in the Temple. They had made it known, in no uncertain terms, that she didn’t belong there. And she agreed with them. She wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t religious, she hated the uniforms they wore, their ‘traditions,’ their fucking caste system upon which they sat gloating at the top. No, Lyria hated everything about the Order. 

With her recently discovered powers, Lyria could kill people, seemingly anyone she wanted. And she _loved_ it. She enjoyed roasting and dismembering the wandering bandits who crossed her path, and had even taken on some bounties in Riverville under the initial conviction it was for the money. But after watching the shitheads cease to exist, she realized it was simply because she enjoyed the process of bringing death to those she felt deserving of it. That didn’t sound righteous and holy to her. She was, in every sense, unworthy of the Order. And now their great holy leader, who didn’t even have the support of half his troops, wanted her to _join_ them? Voluntarily? _Fuck that,_ she thought to herself.

It had been a very long time since Lyria had felt as angry as she was. And the last time, well, the last time she hadn’t made very good life choices. She needed an outlet. She needed to hit something. She needed to kill, and keep on killing. It didn’t really matter who. She had power, and she knew it. Just before the infuriating meeting with Tealor, she’d bought and read a book detailing how to make her favorite blazing lightning even stronger, and wanted nothing more than to test it and watch with satisfaction as people withered into ash.

Lyria was storming down the path away from the temple. People were giving her a wide berth, seeming to sense her seething hatred, her oozing danger. She felt deadly, and wanted a fight. As she entered the Noble’s Quarter, she considered slaughtering random people, simply anyone who crossed her path. Realizing this would likely result in her death, Lyria decided upon an easier, though less deserving target. She’d been promised a fight should she ever return to that fucking pit in the Undercity, and there was never a time she more desired a good, random fight.

Lyria found the well she had previously fallen down, the beggar still lingering near it. She glared at him, and he kept his distance as she threw the boards covering the well aside and slid down the still broken ladder, making her way through the tunnels. She noted with satisfaction that no shitheads had reoccupied the spaces after her last visit. As she walked through 

Even with nearly all her skin covered, people seemed to recognize the danger in her walk, and made plenty of room for the robed woman storming through the Undercity, heading straight for the arena. She pushed open the doors and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the slightly darker ambient light of the room.

Rasha was sitting on her perch of crates as if she’d never left. Lyria walked up and simply demanded, “who am I killing this time?”

Rasha leaned back to distance herself slightly from the wave of hatred glaring at her from under the hood. “Oh! The ‘nameless one’ is back? You made quite the impression last time, though I wasn’t expecting to ever see you again. You are just in time, though. Next fight is two against one. Are yo-”

“Perfect. When does it start?” Lyria cut her off.

“Shortly. Go downstairs and warm up,” Rasha crossed her arms, seemingly annoyed at being disrespected.

Lyria turned and made her way through the crowd to the stairs leading down. She watched again as the urchin boys dragged the dead away and stripped valuables off the bodies. She didn’t have to wait long. As soon as the boys disappeared into the other pit entrance, the announcer stepped forward, and the bulky attendant from last time appeared seemingly out of nowhere and opened the door for Lyria to enter.

The Twins stood on the other side of the pit, sizing Lyria up with sadistic gazes. She drew a dagger and stared straight into the eyes of the closer twin, unblinking as the announcer started talking. That seemed to unnerve him just enough that he glanced away, and she shifted her murderous glare at the other brother. She wondered how many men they had killed together, how many women they had raped. She would make sure there weren’t any more.

The moment the announcer finished speaking, Lyria directed a blast of sparks into the face of the closer twin. He stumbled and started rubbing at his eyes. He probably only had singed brows and lashes, but it was enough to delay him so Lyria could focus on one at a time. The other twin glanced at his brother, then came for Lyria, axe at the ready.  
Lyria smiled as she sent waves of lightning into the man’s face as he ran. He drew close enough to swing at her, but had difficulty seeing past the sparks, and missed her completely. She kept the lightning steady, draining his health quickly as he attempted to stand at his full height and ready his axe once more.

As he stepped forward, smoke started emanating from his flesh, and as if he were no longer in control of his actions, in slow motion, he raised his axe one last time. Lyria saw her lightning resonating with the metallic weapon, and sent one more large pulse directly at it. That was just enough to arc back into him and spark total combustion. His armor and weapons fell to the ground in a heap as his body disintegrated into ash, vaporized and vanquished.

Turning to face the second twin, she snuffed out her magic and pulled out two daggers. After ashing the first twin, she didn’t feel the method was as satisfying as she needed. Up close and personal this time, she thought. The second brother didn’t seem to have any issue with that approach. “You fucking piece of shit! You’ll pay for that!” he spat at her, axe raised as he charged toward her.

Lyria stood still as he approached, letting him exert all the effort. At the last second, she feinted to the right just far enough that the man started aiming his axe that way, then rolled to the left with a quick swipe of a dagger, catching the twin in the leg. Lyria rolled to her feet and looked over her shoulder in satisfaction as the man’s axe struck the ground, followed by his face as he wasn’t able to recover quickly enough from his bleeding calf. She didn’t hesitate. Pouncing and driving her knees into the man’s shoulder blades, Lyria brought both her daggers in front of his neck. She leaned down and whispered in his ear, “sleep.” Both daggers cut deep.

The crowd was cheering. Their happiness at two undeserved deaths made her even angrier. She looked up at them with a sneer on her face. Filled with rage, Lyria didn’t notice the darkly clad masked Aeterna watching her from the shadows, studying her.

She walked up the stairs to collect her pay. She noticed the man that had forced her into the fight last time, and decided to deal with him next. Upon reaching Rasha, before even asking for the coin, she demanded, “the asshole.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to indicate behind her, where said mustached asshole was leaning on the railing watching the fights below. “What’s his name?”

“Oh, no. And don’t even think about starting something. Either he kills you, and we lose our highest bid on fighter, or you kill him, and we lose our wealthiest customer. My suggestion: deal with it.” 

“So what’s the loss of a few coins?”

“It’s worth everyone here wanting to kill you for it. Seriously, leave it be. He’s brought in more money than most other bidders combined in the last week. It means people _eat_ ,” Rasha scolded.

Begrudgingly, Lyria held out her hand. “Fine, whatever. Just pay me.”

Rasha produced a coin purse and tossed it into Lyria’s hand. “Here you go! And...look I’m not your fucking mother, but maybe you should go blow off some steam before coming back for the next fight. Fighting is for the pit only. We don’t need the Rhalâta coming down hard on us because everyone starts fighting up here on the balcony.”

“Fuck off. How soon is the next one?”

Rasha scrunched up her nose at Lyria’s rudeness, but simply said, “Two days.”

Without a word, Lyria turned and stomped off. Her bloodlust was still unquenched. She left the Undercity and thought to stop by the Noticeboard to pick up the most recent bounty, which seemed to be for some unfortunate troll named Pak Pak. She left the city to go murder every bandit, wolf and troll that crossed her path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll try and get the next few chapters out somewhat quickly so we can get to the more interesting bits later on. These are still somewhat introductory. I’m filling in a lot of parts I’d summarized on the first writing, like “she fights the Twins,” as being a placeholder for the actual fight.


	3. the Third Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyria comes to terms with her anger, and makes her decision. Enjoy.

The sound of water splattering onto a hard surface somewhere nearby was the first thing Lyria became aware of. The second was her pounding head. As she opened her eyes, she saw a stream of water cascading down. Once focused, she saw a large statue of a naked woman holding up a vase as the source of the fountain producing the water spray. She stared at it for a while. The landscape beyond the statue slowly came in to focus, and Lyria was a little surprised it didn’t look like Ark’s surroundings. Instead, she was far inland, and next to a cave. 

Thinking was difficult, but Lyria vaguely recalled the area on her way to fulfill the bounty for Pak Pak, some troll that someone wanted dead. While looting the cave after slaughtering everyone inside, she had found some wine bottles, and decided to try them. It had smelled sweet, so she figured it was just fine. Groaning, she rolled over, and felt something round and hard at her stomach. It was one of the empty wine bottles. Intending to throw it, Lyria fumbled to grab hold of the top. It spun away from her grasp, revealing a label. She squinted at it, willing it to become clear. ‘PakPak’s Daily Capitulation’, she was able to make out.  _ Fuck _ . Some sort of troll control potion? She figured it must have been what they used to keep the damned thing tame and not slaughter its keepers.

Lyria pushed herself up to her knees, but the sudden motion disturbed her stomach, and she vomited a little bit, but without much force it merely caught on her scarf and fell down the front of her robes. Disgusted, she lowered her scarf, spat out the bitter fluid and searched for any cloth other than her garments, but coming up empty-handed, settled for dry leaves to smear across her face. 

She stumbled over to the statue, as it stared disapprovingly down at her. Glaring back up at the judgemental figure, Lyria dipped her face forward into the stream of water. It was a sobering sensation. She opened her mouth and drank some of the cool, fresh water. Her stomach churned at the disturbance of its rest, but settled enough to drink some more. Nothing had ever tasted better. After having her fill, Lyria yanked off the soiled scarf from her neck and gave it a good washing before drying it as best she could and concealing her face once more.

Feeling a bit better, Lyria started heading back east in the direction of Ark. Judging by the sun, it must have been late morning, and if she walked quickly enough, Lyria figured she could be back to Ark by nightfall. There were a few people she wanted to apologize to, but mostly Rasha. Lyria’s problems were her own, and she had grown up learning to hate her father when he took out his anger on her, or her mother. Lashing out was for cowards.

The trek back to Ark was long and sobering, allowing Lyria plenty of time to reflect on Tealor’s request. Her main reason for being so pissed was that she was afraid. Everything she had ever been part of had been destroyed, and she felt like it was a curse she carried. Her intended marriage, the farm she grew up on, the brothel, the ship ride. All ended in tragedy, even if she wasn’t the cause. She certainly didn’t feel holy and she didn’t give a shit about the light-born. If anything, she thought it was a good thing they were dead, except for all the chaos it caused in her life with the war breaking out.

Setting her miserable past aside, Lyria reminded herself that the reason she came to Enderal was to live a better life. The Order could give her that, even if she didn’t believe in their religion. All they had done was asked for her help. She could always leave Enderal later, after helping with their current requests. Lyria decided she would take the leap, and become a Keeper.

It was nearly dark when Lyria passed through the gates of Ark. Not quite ready to continue the conversation with Tealor, Lyria headed for the Undercity to apologize to Rasha for her behavior the previous day. As usual, Rasha was sitting on her crates, and perked up when she noticed Lyria approach.

“Ugh, for fuck’s sake, what happened to you?” Rasha looked more intrigued than concerned.

“I took your advice. I cooled off. And, ah, sorry. For my behavior yesterday. I was rude to you, and I shouldn’t have been.” Lyria stated plainly.

Rasha cocked her head and furrowed her brow. “Yesterday? I didn’t see you yesterday. You mean  _ five days _ ago, when you got all pissy after you fought? Or did you get drunk enough to confuse me with someone else?” 

Lyria’s eyes widened. “You mean… I see. Yeah, five days ago. I just...lost track of time.”

“Haha, well, sounds like someone went on a little bender. Anyhow, while you missed the last one, there’s another fight coming up, and I want you in it,” Rasha said.

“Okay. Who am I fighting?”

“Gur Hal’nan, a big, tough nut to crack, with a few special moves he picked up from Arazeal. Well worth it if you win.”

Lyria shrugged, “Alright.”

Rasha raised a brow. “Well, aren’t you eager. You know the drill - go warm up downstairs.”

Lyria followed directions and waited until the attendant ushered her into the pit. As she waited for the  fight to start, she simply stood, relaxed. Being much calmer for this fight, Lyria looked up at the announcer’s platform, and noticed one of the men in assassin’s armor casually leaning against a wooden pillar, staring down at her. It was the same one that had previously been hassling Rasha. He didn’t seem to share the enthusiasm of the rest of the spectators, instead he stared down at her with a sort of calculating look. All of the other masked assassins in the Undercity were rude and dismissive, so she wasn’t sure why this one was so curious. 

Distracted as she was, Lyria missed that the announcer had finished and was briefly taken by surprise as Gur Hal’Nan rushed her. She quickly brought her full attention to the fight, but was not expecting a blast of flames to the face. She’d faced down plenty of mages previously, and was always anticipating such attacks from known magic users. It stunned her that it came from a brutish man in armor. She recovered her senses just in time to roll effortlessly out of the way of the Arazelean’s next attack with a battleaxe. She regained her feet and zapped him in the back with lightning. He cried out in pain as the scent of seared flesh filled the cavern. Lyria continued electrocuting the man as he regained his posture, then rushed her with his axe again. 

It was obvious that Gur had not watched Lyria’s previous fight, for he fell victim to the same whirling dagger move she’d used on one of the Twins. He fell to one knee, and Lyria slowly walked toward him, zapping him continuously. He wasn’t able to stand with the constant onslaught, so she was able to walk right up to him. With a glance up at the crowd, she brought her dagger gently across his throat and ended his suffering, his body falling forward into the ground.

Lyria stared down at the corpse. She was not impressed. Looking back up toward the announcer’s platform, the masked man had disappeared. When the cheering started dying down, Lyria returned to Rasha for her pay.

“Not bad! I have to say, I wasn’t sure you’d stand a chance against old Gur, but you’re really starting to impress me.”

“If ‘old Gur’ impressed you, you need better standards.”

“Ha! I suppose...” Rasha looked out over the crowd as she trailed off.

“What’s up? That Aeterna guy creeping on you?”

“What? No, just reminding me I have… things to take care of.”

“Need help  _ taking care _ of those things?” Lyria cocked an eyebrow and gave Rasha a serious look.

Rasha looked almost disgusted. “Piss off! I don’t need your help, and I didn’t ask for it.”

Lyria kept her expression serious. “I know, and you never would. Which is why I offered. So, want me to off a few masked men for you?”

Rasha laughed. “You really don’t know the way things work down here, do you sunchild? Only an idiot would take on the Rhalâta.”

“According to a lot of people, I  _ am _ an idiot. The offer stands.” Lyria figured that a lot of things she’d been doing lately seemed idiotic. As was evidenced by her own vomit still staining the front of her robe.

“ _ No. _ ”

Lyria shugged. “Suit yourself. You still paying me?”

“Oh, right. Here,” Rasha produced a coin purse and tossed it to Lyria.

Lyria caught the purse and put it away. With a nod to Rasha, she left the arena. Feeling like she’d gotten all her anger out, Lyria stopped by the House of the Apothecarii on her way out and made a donation of a portion of her earnings. The same man who had saved her after her first pit fight greeted her in the entryway. He was a little surprised after recognizing her, but she figured it was only fair to contribute, since she would likely have died were it not for them after the first fight. 

“I owe a debt to your order.” Lyria held out her hand and offered him a coin purse, holding a generous portion of the recent fight’s earnings.

The man looked at the purse, then back up to her face. “I don’t even know who you are.”

Lyria held the man’s gaze. “Doesn’t matter - I don’t want my name on some memorial brick. The Apothecarii have kept me alive twice. And I can see that donations can go far down here. A lot farther than at the office up in the Temple.”

The man gave her a surprised look. He probably wasn’t used to people in the Undercity even being aware of his order’s other building in Ark, much less casually admitting to having been there. He looked at her, arm still outstretched with a coin purse. He reached his own hand out and took it from her. “Thank you,” he said, then he turned and walked back to the side room to continue grinding herbs.

Lyria left the House of the Apothecarii. As she walked through the Undercity, she thought she noticed the same masked Aeterna from the pit occasionally trailing her. She tried ducking into a corner and waiting for him to make a mistake and walk past her, but he must have noticed what she did, because she didn’t see him again on her way to the surface. Lyria paused before opening the gate to the South Quarter, and looked back over the Undercity. Nothing seemed out of place. With a sigh, she started walking up the hill towards the Sun Temple to give Tealor her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought there was a fight about every two days, and it makes sense that there would be fights that you can miss if you wait too long in between. The ones we take part in for the quest are probably a small snippet of what all there is to offer for fights. Also, Tharaêl mentions that he’s been paying attention to the protagonist, so it also makes sense that you’d see him around as he’s observing.
> 
> Hope you liked it! Almost done with the next one, too.


	4. Raga Shadowclaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyria blows off some steam before becoming a Keeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter went an... interesting route. I wasn’t expecting it, and I honestly don’t know where it came from. But, whatever. Enjoy a strange narrative with a twisted character.

It was well after noon by the time Lyria awoke in her rented room in the Dancing Nomad. The previous day was long, and her excitement at joining the Order was snubbed by Tealor telling her to come back the next evening for the actual ceremony. It made sense that she wouldn’t just take vows immediately, but she had been so worked up over it she hadn’t thought about it. She got out of bed, stretched her tight muscles, and went downstairs to see what Ulfur was serving.

She noticed Jespar sitting at his usual table, and decided to say hello after getting a bowl of cabbage soup and roasted pheasant along with some Ark Dobblebock. Without invitation, Lyria carefully set down all of her provisions and sat down in the chair opposite Jespar.

He looked up at her and smiled. “My fair lady. How goes it?”

Lyria gave him a flirtatious smile. “Quite well. I’ve taken on some well-paying jobs lately, and I may be taking a more permanent position.”

“Oh? Does this have something to do with the Grandmaster’s interest in you?”

“Yeah. Going to some Keeper ceremony tonight. The actual ‘test’ ritual already happened. Killed some kid named Dunwar, but Calia and I both made it. Super weird: I was trapped in this prison with some… figment of my imagination, I guess. Made it out and woke up, but I was still dreaming. Or in some vision. You were there,” Lyria paused to take a few bites of her food.

Jespar seemed more interested with that revelation. “Oh? So you have...visions of me now? Am I just as stunning without clothes?”

Lyria gave him her best charming look. “I hope so. But this was different. You sorta turned into a monster. Or rather, you were being controlled by the beings Tealor and Firespark keep going on about. It was...unsettling.”

“That’s disappointing,” Jespar sighed.

“I know. Living in reality is actually better than my daydreams lately,” Lyria flicked her eyes up to his.

Jespar stopped his flirtations, his expression changing to serious. “So, becoming a Keeper? Are you excited?”

Lyria was disappointed at the obvious change of topic, but went with it anyway. “No. I was, then we went on the whole vision journey thing, and now we have to wait longer to formalize what’s already done with some pompous bullshit. Which means I can’t leave Ark, and have some time to kill.”

Jespar looked like he was growing impatient. “I can see that. Maybe you should check out the theater?”

“The theater? Really?” Lyria gave him an annoyed look. 

“I’m sorry, my lady, but I need to get going. Enjoy an afternoon relaxing. I’ll catch you later!” Jespar stood and left the inn, leaving Lyria to finish dining alone. It wasn’t how Lyria wanted the encounter to go, but Jespar made it pretty obvious he didn’t want to spend any time with her. She finished her food and chugged the remainder of her lager. The only place she could think of to pass time was the fighting pit in the Undercity. It was possible Rasha had another fight available. Worth checking out, Lyria thought, as she left the inn on a path towards the caverns of Ark.

As usual, Rasha was perched on her crates. Instead of her usual interest when Lyria appeared, Rasha looked annoyed. “Yes?” she barked out, hardly looking at Lyria.

“I’d like to fight, if there’s any happening soon.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. And ah, it’ll be exciting this time. The ringmaster paired you to fight against Raga Shadowclaw.” Rasha looked at her like that name should mean something.

“Shadowclaw? Hmmm, I suppose I’ve a few guesses. Should I know her?” Lyria started scanning the crowd for the masked Aeterna, wondering when he would show up.

“Well, you’ll learn soon enough. She’s an alchemist. And, small tip from my side, don’t let her tender appearance fool you. You’ll soon see why.”

As Rasha talked, Lyria decided the Aeterna was not in the crowd, and settled her gaze on a prostitute giving a titillating dance to a shirtless man, before looking back to Rasha. “Mmm, that is exciting. I can’t wait. When does it start?”

“Soon, go warm up,” Rasha dismissed Lyria.

As she waited again for the fight to start, Lyria looked through the bars at the Arena, and noticed the same Aeterna as before, walk out onto the announcer’s platform and lean up against a pillar. She now understood he worked for an organized criminal group called the Rhalâta, but still didn’t know why he was watching her in fights and throughout the Undercity. He caught her gaze just as the attendant showed up to open the gate to the pit. Lyria stepped through, continuing to stare up at the mysterious man watching her, until her new opponent also entered.

Raga reminded Lyria slightly of herself. She liked her armor; it was certainly better than her own current robes which Lyria had pulled off the last mage she defeated. The first time she’d worn clothes taken from a corpse, Lyria was disgusted. But after a dozen upgrades also taken from the freshly dead, it simply became normal, and noticing good armor on someone she was fighting now seemed normal. Still, Raga was beautiful. And the name ‘Shadowclaw’ made Lyria hope she would be fighting something unusual.

The fight started, and Lyria was impressed as Raga drew an axe with each hand. She decided she wanted to savor this fight and play a bit longer, so Lyria drew a dagger in each hand, leaving magic as a backup option. Raga came running up to Lyria and launched herself into a flying attack with her axes. Lyria ducked and rolled forward, hitting Raga’s legs and knocking her leap off balance, sending her face first into the ground.

Lyria rolled to her feet and waited for Raga to recover. Raga, then enraged, rushed Lyria again. Lyria smiled. Raga expected her to go low again, and tried her leaping axe attack again with a lower aim. Lyria darted to the side and let Raga run past her. Raga turned, and went for another running attack without the leap, raising her right axe. As soon as Lyria saw Raga’s arm go out to the side slightly, Lyra rushed forward and got inside Raga’s swinging arc, bringing the dagger in her left hand up, and thrusting it into Raga’s armpit, tactfully preserving the armor. 

Raga keeled over in pain, blood pouring on the ground. Lyria waited again for Raga to recover. Only able to hold one axe, Raga rushed forward again, a bit too frantically, and obviously not well-practiced with her left arm. She clumsily slashed her axe at Lyria, who drove a dagger through Raga’s left forearm. Raga dropped her axe and tried punching Lyria weakly with her right hand. Lyria ducked under the punch, grabbed Raga’s arm and pulled it swiftly downward with her, throwing Raga over her back with a knife still lodged between the bones of Raga’s forearm. Raga landed on her back, and Lyria jumped down and straddled her. She pinned Raga’s arms above her head, using the dagger protruding through Raga’s left arm to slice through the other and hold them still as Raga squirmed underneath her.

Lyria looked down into Raga’s angry eyes and said, “sorry it has to end this way sweetheart,” and drove her other dagger into Raga’s right armpit a few more times. Raga screamed in pain as Lyria continued pushing her wrists into the ground above her head. When it seemed she had bled out enough to die, Raga started laughing. Lyria looked at Raga’s face as it started…  _ changing _ .

She had heard of lycanthropes, but had never seen one transform up close. Lyria recalled one particular man, a customer at her brothel, that was reportedly a practitioner. He had taken a fancy to her, and she couldn’t complain. Even though he was paying for it, he was by far the best lover she’d ever experienced. He was so…  _ primal _ . Polite, but rough around the edges. And oh, how he fucked. The most passionate, engaged sex she’d ever had.  _ Fuck _ , now her smallclothes were getting wet with excitement under her robes. Lyria watched as Raga’s entire body lengthened and grew fur. Fully transformed, Raga threw Lyria off to the side and stood, letting out a howl.

The thoughts of wild sex had put Lyria in quite a different mindset, even in the middle of battle. Fantastical thoughts entered her mind. Lyria wished that she could have met this “Shadowclaw” under different circumstances. She had so many questions, and would love to take Raga back to her room and experiment with the idea that the study of lycanthropy makes people better in bed. It had been so long for her, and she so wanted to be fucked.

Sadly, Raga  _ did _ want to keep fighting, though her attempts to intimidate Lyria only served to excite her. After howling and then circling for a minute, Raga pounced with her wolfish form. Lyria dodged the attack, and summoned some lightning, zapping Raga in the back. The smell of roasted flesh and fur started filling the arena. Snarling, Raga turned and started slowly closing in. Lyria braced herself. With only a short distance between them, there would be no dodging. Raga did not disappoint. She swiped one clawed hand at Lyria’s side, and the other at her shoulder. Lyria pivoted out of the way of the first paw, allowing Raga’s claws to sink deep into her shoulder. Painful as it was, Lyria enacted her plan, and ended the battle with an upward thrust of her dagger into Raga’s throat, hot blood spurting onto her face, saturating through her facial scarf. 

Raga fell backward, with Lyria falling on top of the half-wolf. She landed stradling Raga’s upper left leg, grinding down on the upper thigh as they landed. The unexpected pressure in her most sensitive area, already genuinely aroused, sent Lyria careening into a deep orgasm. She managed to keep her scream from coming out, but threw her head backwards to catch her breath. Lyria was not expecting to catch the eye of the same masked man she had seen during her last fight, still leaning against a wooden column, meeting her gaze as waves of pleasure ran through her. Her blush deepened, hidden from the world behind her scarf as she panted to catch her breath, holding the gaze of the masked man.

Lyria stood up, in rapture at the experience, in full display of the crowd. Her ears rang from the rush of battle and her ecstasy. Her nipples pressed out against their confinements, visible even through the underclothes and robes. She didn’t care. The crowd cheered anyway. 

Once she felt confident enough blood returned to her head that she wouldn’t stumble, Lyria went back upstairs to Rasha. A glance at the announcer’s platform was enough to see the masked Aeterna had already left. Lyria was more concerned about getting the armor she wanted, but felt too embarrassed to publicly strip it off of Raga.

Rasha had a grin on her face as Lyria approached. “Well, that was a… quite the fight. Well done!” Rasha tossed her a coin purse with a devious look. Perhaps at least one person had noticed the  _ effect _ the fight had on her. She decided to change the topic.

“So, how does the whole looting corpses thing work for the pit? I see the kids strip the bodies. Where does it go?” Lyria asked.

Rasha laughed. “What? Nobody told you? It’s stored here, in this chest, until the victor comes to claim it.” Rasha motioned at the large chest near her.

“Oh,” Lyria felt somewhat stupid for not noticing or asking. She opened the chest and found it stuffed full of all the weapons and armor from all her previous fights, still covered in blood and starting to stink. As she had been acquiring better armor along the way, she had no use for the materials from her previous opponents, only the current one. She turned back to Rasha. “Anyone around here who will buy the whole lot?”

Rasha simply pointed at an older man sitting at a table. Lyria walked over and negotiated a reasonable price for everything in the chest after the man inspected it, and he handed her an impressively heavy coin purse. She only had to wait a few more minutes for the urchin boys to retrieve Raga’s armor. She stuffed it in a sack, intending to clean it up later, and left the pit.

The House of the Apothecarii was her first destination, where she made a very generous donation, and they patched up her shoulder. The gruff old man who helped Lyria commented that her robes were irreparable when he was done working on her shoulder. She simply smiled and thanked him, walking out with her next set of armor. 

Lyria figured it should be late enough that the ceremony at the Sun Temple should be starting shortly. She headed for the Dancing Nomad first to drop off her armor and coin purse, intending to deposit most of it in the bank the next day. She was well on her way to affording the fancy house she wanted. Lyria considered changing while she was at her room, but decided to test some limits, and remained in her tainted garments. Looking down, her robes were blood splattered from top to bottom, with her own blood soaking halfway down the torso from the torn-open shoulder, and Raga’s thick jugular blood had turned her scarf red. The blood would likely never come out.

Lyria smirked deviously to herself as she strolled up the hills of Ark. She hoped she was the first person to take Keeper vows while covered in sweat, grime, werewolf blood, and evidence of sexual frenzy. She wouldn’t want to be rude by being late, so surely blaspheming the Temple in her current state had to be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, personal note: I’m not into bestiality, and I didn’t think Lyria was either. But when it came to this fight, I don’t know, I guess I was in a weird mood while writing, and this just kinda happened and I ran with it. I promise Lyria won’t be gettin’ down with any trolls in the future. Just has a thing for werewolves apparently.
> 
> On a happy note, we’re now on to the part where Tharaêl gets involved.


	5. the Beast

Since becoming a Keeper, Lyria had done splendidly little for the Order. Few of its members congratulated her, so she left the party that followed the ceremony very early, and took the Keeper robes they gave her and threw them under her bed in the tavern. She met with Jespar at the watchtower, where he turned her down again, and made a point of telling her he wasn’t interested in a relationship, or even a tumble. Then she decided to get pissing drunk, and passed out alone in her own room. 

Lyria ignored requests to meet with Tealor for quite a few days, and instead took some bounties and odd jobs until she got bored and eventually returned to the Sun Temple to hear them out. Her first assignment was to go see the fabled Aged Man and discreetly use some ‘word of the dead’ artifact he had laying around, for the purpose of viewing the memories of a dead Pyrean. It sounded insane, and Lyria scoffed when Tealor told her about it. Still, if they paid well, she would at least try.

While she was to leave in the morning to meet Jespar, Lyria had the better part of a day left and no plans. She decided to return to the pit again for an evening of entertainment. Bad as she felt killing the poor, she had her sights set on the house in the Noble’s District, and stashing away a few hundred extra pennies every time she was in Ark brought her that much closer to scandalizing all its’ residents. She couldn’t wait to see the look on every stuck up asshole’s face when they realized that she, a casteless outsider, was their neighbor. The thought brought a smile to her face. 

She figured that spending the evening fighting for a few more coins wouldn’t do any harm before leaving Ark in the morning to meet Jespar at the Western Cliff myrad tower. It would be the first time she would ride a myrad, and was simultaneously terrified and looking forward to it.

Lyria’s pondering of upcoming events ceased as she found Rasha on her crates, and observed a noticeable slump to her shoulders and a forlorn look on her face. “You don’t look happy. That Aeterna pay you another visit?”

“He didn’t have to,” Rasha pouted.

“Asshole. What’s his name, anyway?”

Rasha’s face turned angry. “I don’t know! Look, when someone from the Rhalâta shows up, you don’t ask their name. You just do what they want, without question, or suffer.”

Lyria put her hands up. “My apologies. I’ll stop prying. So, any good fights this evening?”

“Oh, so you’re in the mood for another fight?” Rasha gave Lyria an obvious wink.

Lyria rolled her eyes in attempt to hide her embarrassment. “Oh fuck off. But, sure. What do you have in store for me?”

Rasha took on a more serious tone again. “If you’re man enough, you’ll fight the Beast tonight.”

Lyria raised a brow. “...Do I look like a man to you?” 

“You know what I mean. So, interested?”

“I guess, though I am starting to feel a little bad killing everyone who shows up for a fight here...”

Rasha looked surprised at her admission of remorse. “Hm. Well, you don’t have to feel bad for this one. He’s already been killed dozens of times. Some necromancers just patch him up afterwards and he’s ready to go again, good as new!”

Lyria tried to picture this creature in her head, with no pleasant results. “So this is some sort of... Lost One?”

Rasha shrugged. “Hell if I know. Puts up a good fight either way. A very good fight,” Rasha paused and looked Lyria directly in the eye. “I’ve got to be honest - you might not even make your way out of this one. But it will be well worth it if you do.”

“Alright. When should I be ready?”

“After your sun sets on the surface, assuming that’s where you’re off to.”

“Sounds good; I’ll be back then.” Lyria left the arena, intending to return to the Dancing Nomad, but changed her mind and headed to the House of the Apothecarii. She had been learning about alchemy, and was able to convince them to allow her to help grind herbs for their potions and poultices and ask questions. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement in her mind, as she asked for no payment for her work. The old man who never gave his name was content enough with the agreement, so Lyria crushed and mixed herbs for a few hours until it was time to return for the fight.

Rasha looked annoyed again when she spotted Lyria returning. “You’re late; the fight is about to start. Get downstairs quickly. Oh, and… good luck with this one. I do hope you survive.” Rasha had the slightest hint of worry in her eyes.

Lyria gave Rasha a genuine smile. “Thanks Rasha,” she quipped before heading down to wait for the fight. While at the door, Lyria scanned the area for signs of the masked Aeterna. He had yet to appear. Even after entering the pit, there was no sign of the man in his usual spot. Lyria turned her attention to the oversized undead horror locked in the cage. 

The thing was repulsive. Lyria could smell its rotting flesh across the arena. She wasn’t concerned about being able to slay it, but really didn’t want to have to touch the monster and burn her clothes after, as she was still proud of wearing Raga’s old armor. She settled on a battle plan of running as fast as she could to keep away from it and zapping the monster from a distance, or setting it on fire. Burnt flesh would smell better than its current aroma.

The announcer finished his introductions, and the attendant opened the cage. Lyria started summoning up the largest fireball she could muster. The creature stepped forward, its white hair ruffling with the movement. It reminded her slightly of Jespar, which would give her some outlet for her frustration after their previous meeting. Lyria smiled as she raised her hands, preparing to unleash the deadly blast. Until suddenly, a flash of blue appeared behind it, and out stepped the very Aeterna she had been watching for. She paused, fireball at the ready. 

The Aeterna faded in and out of sight with more blue flashes, stabbing the Beast on all sides until it fell to its knees. The Aeterna appeared between herself and the Beast, his back facing her. Time seemed to slow as he raised both swords, then forcefully swung his left sword across the Beast’s neck, followed by his right sword with a deep piercing stab into its neck. The Beast crumpled to the ground. 

Lyria was impressed by his talents as she watched him glow and kill the giant monstrosity. The announcer and crowd were upset, booing their displeasure. The masked man turned to face her. Lyria felt her breath hitch as she was momentarily mesmerized by the intensity of his violet eyes. “Let’s see you dance, nameless one.” Lyria was thankful for her stained facial scarf, as it hid the undoubtedly stupid look on her face.

She was still staring, a bit dumbfounded, as he disappeared again, only to reappear directly in front of her and rushed her, knocking her on her ass. He could have stabbed her, but instead used the flat of his sword and smacked her across the chest and shoulder with it. It stung like a whip, and would definitely leave a deep bruise. The pain snapped her back into the reality of the fight, and Lyria scrambled to her feet and faced the mysterious man. The fireball had fizzled out, draining a significant portion of her mana. So instead she sent a few smaller bolts of lightning at him, followed by a small stream of fire.

He winced at the combination of fire and lightning, then did his disappearing act again. Lyria immediately drew her daggers and waited, bending her knees slightly. When he appeared behind her, she spun around to meet his forceful attack. She managed to block one sword, but the other cut painfully into her upper arm, though she did manage to slice into his forearm at the same time. The man spun around in a circle, swinging both swords for a second attack, but that time Lyria was starting to get a feel for his fighting style, and blocked both of them. They continued their dance in a flurry of blades, the Aeterna slicing and whirling with his swords, Lyria switching off from offensive lightning and fire to defending herself with her daggers when he came closer, Lyria always retreating and forcing him to advance.

Lyria started to get exhausted, though at the same time she could see that her magical attacks were wearing her opponent down as well. She still felt he was holding back, which confused her and also led her to hold back, making the fight last even longer. The Aeterna was obviously a much higher caliber fighter than the previous pit fighters, as she struggled to land any significant hits on him, instead having to rely on her magic to injure him. 

Deciding that she needed to end the fight soon, the next time the man turned his back to her in one of his whirls, Lyria turned and ran, and could hear him following her. Lyria leaped over the corpse of the Beast as the man tried a downward attack with both swords. Her plan worked, and he drove his swords firmly into the rotten flesh of its ribcage. Lyria seized the opportunity to throw him off balance with a blast of fire then tackle him with all her might. They ended up on the ground, and Lyria quickly pinned his left arm with her knee, brought a dagger to his throat, and grabbed his right wrist with her free hand all at once. She had a brief moment of déjà vu of straddling Raga in a similar position, and half expected the man to start transforming into a werewolf. His face did change, though it was to an expression of approval, and something else she couldn’t quite name. He did not look like a man about to die.

Something in the Aeterna’s piercing eyes compelled her to soften the pressure of the dagger at his throat. He freed his arm from her grasp, and gently rested his hand on hers and pushed the dagger away. With a surprisingly calm voice, he said “That’s enough. Let’s talk.” Lyria felt very confused, and wasn’t certain if it was a ploy to kill her with her guard down. Either way, he sat up, and she stood to give him room, still wielding her dagger. He got up and retrieved his swords from the fallen Beast, then took out what appeared to be a teleport scroll and used it. Lyria started panicking as she felt her body rising into the air, completely unable to stop it. She heard the crowd exclaiming in surprise above her as blue swirling light started engulfing her. The scenery of the pit started fading from the edges of her vision, and the last thing she saw before everything went black was brilliant violet eyes staring at her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, finally we get to meet him. I changed the fight so many times, hence the posting delay. Hope you like it!


	6. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyria finally gets to talk to Tharaêl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And summer is over! Sorry for the long delay, but I don’t tend to spend a lot of time on a computer when it’s nice out. Luckily for any avid readers, the temperature plummeted from broiling to freezing literally overnight, and I’m back to continue fluffing out this story. I’ve missed it, too. Enjoy an extra long chapter.

Lyria was abruptly dumped on the ground from the mystical bindings of the teleport scroll. Her insides felt incorrectly arranged , she fell to her knees. The masked Aeterna seemed to land much more gracefully, even taking out a pair of rats before Lyria could recover and stand back up. She coughed up some unpleasant black...possibly dirt and spat it out as she looked around. “Ugh, fuck. Bodies? This is the Corpse Pit, isn’t it?”

She watched him sheath his swords and turn to face her. He seemed to ignore her clumsiness and discomfort with the teleportation. “Yes. Forgive my dramatic entrance, but this  is  better.”

“Better? The Beast smelled better than this… barely.”

The man gave her a dismissive look. “The smell doesn’t affect you as much after a while.”

“Much as I’ve been around dead bodies the last few years, I still can’t say I’ve ever gotten used to it.” Lyria gagged a bit more, then recovered and cleared her throat. “Okay, I think I’ll be alright. So, back to business then. Where were we? Oh right, so, who the fuck are you and why did you bring me here? You’ve been following me,” Lyria looked up at him in an attempt to seem accusational. 

The man simply looked amused. “I was just about to explain. I’m Tharaêl Narys, Voice of the Father. The reason I contacted you is I’ve been following you for a while, and I’m looking for someone with your set of skills. And, ah, our little encounter down in the pit erased the last doubts I had about you.”

“Encounter?” She rubbed her sorely bruised shoulder. “That hurt.”

“It wouldn’t have if you’d dodged.”

Lyria snorted. “True enough. So, Tharael, what the fuck kind of title is ‘Voice of the Father’?”

“Hm, guessing by that accent, you’re at outlander, aren’t you? Shit...does that mean I have to explain who the Rhalâta is to you?”

“I’ve noticed a bunch of assholes dressed up in expensive armor with expensive weapons leveraging money out of starving people in rags. Am I wrong in assuming you’re some kind of criminal gang that’s taken over because the Keepers can’t be bothered to patrol where their armor can’t gleam in the sunlight?”

He laughed. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. The Rhalâta is more than just a bunch of criminals, though… but we’ll get there. Regarding your original question, the ‘Voices’ are the military arm of the Rhalâta. I’m sure you’ve seen some of us before… we come into play when a matter needs a ‘strong hand’ to resolve itself.”

“Yes I’ve noticed the leveraging of pennies from the destitute. And you, what, had to test me first? What do you want me to join in with you shitheads, or you contract out now?”

“I contacted you because  I  want to hire you personally. For a mission.”

“And I look like a mercenary.” She looked down as she commented to herself. She was not accustomed to people looking at her and seeing a mercenary. A farm girl, a beggar, a laborer, a whore, sure. But never someone to be respected and sought after for work. She felt a little flattered.

Tharaêl had tilted his head and looked at her curiously. “Well, you look like someone willing to slaughter other people in front of a gawking crowd for a handful of coins… at least that’s what you did down there.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t really stopped to consider what other people might think if they knew of her recent activities. She laughed to herself at the thought of the Order being humiliated by its most recent Keeper fighting in the pit. For fun, to combat her own depression with a false sense of glory by needlessly slaughtering others to a cheering crowd, to save up for a fancy house, or just to relieve anger. It sounded pretty bad, she had to admit. She decided to keep that to herself.

Tharaêl seemed to notice her embarrassment. “Don’t get me wrong - I don’t judge. The pit fighters know what they’re getting themselves into. But after what I saw you do down there, I concluded that you are willing to do a lot of things if the pay is right. Or am I wrong?”

Lyria breathed in. She figured since he saw her as a mercenary, she should simply let him think she did it all for money. “...no, you’re not.” She said a little hesitantly.

“Well then.”

“Alright, so...tell me about your mission.” Lyria did her best to put on a studious expression.

“Well, actually it’s simple. I want your help in killing someone.” Tharaêl relaxed, and went over to a wall and leaned against it. Lyria found herself also relaxed by the action. Tharaêl crossed his arms and continued, “The Father.”

That surprised her. “What? The guy you work for? The Rhalâta’s leader? What are you, staging a coup of some sort?”

“Their  leader, not mine. When I was ten years old, the Rhalâta abducted me and a dozen other children. That is, they bought us.”

Lyria cringed a little, and her heart immediately went out to Tharaêl. She had felt lucky her own experience in slavery happened as an adult, after getting some life experience. She could imagine a childhood of slavery, and wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“Sha’Gun, the old cunt who owned our orphanage, sold us like cattle.”

“The Rhalâta is into the slave trade? I see our kind are favorites for slaves despite what part of the world you live in. So they bought up all the children?”

“Not all. Us and, over the years, at least a dozen more. And we all came from the same orphanage, ‘the Refuge.’ And no, I have no idea what they did to us... I remember nothing.”

Lyria’s mind came up with more questions at every statement he made. Enderal allowed slavery? But he didn’t remember being a slave yet still was part of the Rhalâta? So confused. She decided to have him start from the beginning, and asked, “So you were an orphan before that?”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.

Alright, not too open about the topic. She could understand. Moving on to the part he seemed angrier about. “So the woman running the orphanage was selling the children as slaves? How did she manage to get away with that?”

“How? Probably because the Father shoved an ingot of gold up her ass for every child she sold. That goes a long way at buying silence. But, the Fleshmaggots got her a while ago, so she took her reasons to the grave with her.”

“Hm. So why did the Father want slave children?”

“That’s the big question, isn’t it? At first I thought it was about child trafficking - you know, tender little knaves and girls for rich bastards - Ark’s bigwigs. Yet now I’ve come to the conclusion that it must have been about science. Experiments.”

This brought on another slough of questions. But she wasn’t even sure she was understanding him. “So, the Rhalâta ran experiments on you? To what, brainwash you to serve in their little gang?”

Tharaêl shook his head. “Only the Father took part. The Rhalaim weren’t a part of it. As I said, I’m pretty sure you have the wrong idea about them - the Rhalâta doesn’t see itself as a guild of murderers, but as a faith...a sect, a cult in other words. The blackmailing, the shadow tax - it’s how they finance their little community.”

“Lovely. More religious idiots, doing whatever the fuck they want to the weak and powerless, justifying everything because they’re above everyone else.” She sighed, “and what is it the Rhalâta believe in?”

“That the physical body is the worst thing that ever happened to man. It’s a hull that needs to transcend. But we digress - if we’re to work together, you’ll soon have some robed cultist telling you all this shit anyway.”

“Alright. That’s a...rather unusual core belief. But I guess it means they won’t mind dying. Anyhow, getting back. So if you don’t remember your time as a slave for the Rhalâta, but you’re now a member, what happened? Did you wake up brainwashed or what?”

“After the Father was done with us, he simply disposed of our corpses. This is also the first memory I have after the time of the abduction - waking up in a pile of dead bodies. I don’t know exactly, but I must have been somewhere between twelve to fourteen years old - still half a child, in other words. As you can imagine, I was a… I was a mess for the first few moons after that. Once I was able to think somewhat straight again, I looked for help in the Upper City. Of course, the guards didn’t believe a word of what I said and sent me right back down into the caverns.”

Lyria paused to simply take in all the new information. She realized that they probably were near the area that he had woken up, and the smell from where she stood was awful enough. She couldn’t imagine that upon a child. She could relate to some of it, but the most awful things she’d endured in life were as an adult, mostly. She said what came to mind first. “That’s fucked up.”

“Many things are fucked up. Still, they happen.”

Lyria scoffed and coldly said, “Yeah, they sure do.” She took a breath and continued, “Alright, so you went up to tell the good Keepers all this shit, and shock of shocks, they couldn’t be bothered to look into it?”

“No. And frankly it doesn’t surprise me; I’m sure hundreds of ragged kids from the Undercity had come to them before, telling them horror stories about how much they’d suffered only to get a bed and some food. Also, as you may have figured out by now, the Order doesn’t have any power down here. The Rhalâta controls the caves, and that’s how it’ll stay.”

“What a helpful fucking Order they are. Right, so a kid missing a few years gets tossed back into the caves, then ends up supporting the Rhalâta by joining them, only to hire out a job for taking out the Father. So this is all for revenge?”

“Correct. Let’s put it this way, I came to realize that, no matter how much I cursed and cried, nobody would come to my help. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. I taught myself how to survive, and how to fight, and years later, entered the Dust Pit for the first time. One of the voices saw how well I could fight, and offered me to study the Rhalâs.”

“Rhalâs?”

“Their codex, their holy scripture...written by the Father himself. I shaved my head and became a Scion, the lowest rank.”

“And nobody wondered at why their former slave  wanted  to come back to them?” 

“The Father doesn’t bother with most Rhalaim, especially not with the scions. Also, when they discarded me, I was a child... now I’m a man.”

“Hmm.” It seemed a stretch that nobody wouldn’t have recognized him. Still, she had to stay on topic, or she’d never let him finish. She was still trying to put the whole timeline together, though. “So, when did all that go down? Your initiation into the Rhalâta?”

“Eight years ago.”

“Wow, that’s a long time to wait with hateful patience. Impressive. So, epic revenge plot? Tell me more.”

“Revenge...yes. I want this monster to pay for what he did to me and the others, and I want to make sure that he will never hurt anyone again. Ever. One of the core beliefs of the Rhalâta concerns the ‘Day of Transcendence’ - it’s the day when every Rhalaim who has proven him or herself worthy leaves their body to continue existing as in immortal, immaterial being. And, they also believe that this day is imminent, since the Father found a way to “achieve” transcendence for himself and for his lambs. In the weeks to come, he will set out an expedition to the Frostcliff Mountains. Since this expedition will be an extremely dangerous undertaking, he will bring along almost a dozen of the best mercenaries available. You will be one of them - and together, we will kill the Father.”

Whew, a whole other set of information to digest. She so wished she had Lexil’s knowledge. But she was beginning to support his cause, if she could trust him. She’d had so many people be dishonest with her, it was hard to trust. And he seemed pretty free with this confidential information with a person he’d just met. That part made her a little wary. “So, why are you telling all of this to someone who you’ve only watched fight, that you don’t even know? Wouldn’t the faster way to make money be to report you to the Rhalâta as a traitor?”

“Well, let’s put it this way - I took precautions. If you don’t have the guts to help me, so be it. But if you do try to backstab me, you’ll regret it.”

Lyria smiled a little bit. Smart man. She liked and trusted him a little more with that.

“As for why, I’m telling you this because I need someone who knows how to kill...better than the usual cutthroat you find down here. And you seem to be that someone. Also…” He took in a breath. “There’s something about you. I can’t say what, but I feel as though you’re the right person for the job. Let’s leave it at that.”

Lyria wasn’t sure if that was his attempt at flattery, but she figured it had worked - there were some butterflies stirring in her stomach which had laid dormant for some time. She wanted to help him, and felt a vicarious satisfaction in assisting with someone else’s revenge. She wished she’d had the power and opportunity in her past to end someone who only caused grief for everyone around them. She felt excited to be working with Tharaêl. And he seemed committed to having her help, so no need to further the ruse by asking about money.

Lyria smiled behind her scarf and asked, “So what kind of expedition will this be?”

“Well, the Rhalâta spent the last two years excavating an old temple, that apparently, was lost in a glacier for centuries. According to the Father, this is where we’ll find the key to achieve transcendence...but that’s about all I know.”

She was intrigued, and wanted to know details. In her mind, they were already partners. “So, how do we convince the Father to hire me? I take it you haven’t been bragging about the new fighter in the pit to your...coworkers? Whatever they are?”

“By doing something that impresses him. As you can imagine, the Rhalâta already has its stock of sellswords they rely on. But if we do something that impresses the Father or the First Seer, it might be enough to convince him to hire you. Look, I know how shaky it sounds, but it’s our best bet. So, are you with me or not?”

Lyria couldn’t help but smile deviously. “Oh, I’m in. If the Father is what you describe, he’s just some powerful shithead that needs to be served some justice few can offer. Let’s just say I’m uniquely equipped to do just that.” Lyria grinned and held out her hand.

Tharaêl cocked his head in amusement, but accepted the handshake. “Absolutely.” He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, then said, “Meet me at the Wailing Tree two hours from now. Oh, and ah, here - this will help you get back to the Undercity in case you need to return to the surface before our meeting. Stay safe.” He handed her some teleportation scrolls, apparently oblivious to her disgraceful landing upon teleporting, and that she  hated  teleporting, and avoided it when possible. 

She looked down at the scrolls as she grabbed them, about to explain her unpleasant experiences when using them, only to look up in time to notice Tharaêl fading from view as he teleported away. Lyria chuckled as she stashed the scrolls away in a pocket and smiled giddily. Helping Tharaêl felt much more personally satisfying than helping the Order. Certainly they could wait while she indulged herself. Lyria pondered over the past of her mysterious new employer as she started wandering her way out of the Corpse Pit. 

Upon going from the corpse pit to the Marketplace, she froze as she stood face to face with a Rhalaim. But, she didn’t hassle Lyria or even question why she was exiting the area. Relaxing, Lyria made a mental note not to allow herself to show any anxiousness in front of anyone from the Rhalâta. Time to put on an act of a tough mercenary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for any active fanfic consumers: how do you all feel about canon game dialogue in fics? The character I’m manipulating should definitely have original dialogue, but how much tweaking would you like to see done to Tharaêl’s lines? I’m torn on the topic. On one hand, it was so well written that I don’t feel it needs improving on. On the other hand, maybe it feels a bit boring to keep it straight cannon. Would it feel rushed if I summarized the conversations where we already know what happens? Thoughts?


	7. The Black Libra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little chat before hunting down Qalian.

After stopping at one of the open water ducts to wash up, Lyria stopped by Hiulda Ratsfeast’s to quell some hunger. While she was eating, she overheard a woman complaining about ridiculous prices and people dying. A bit intrigued given that most Undercity residents never made a fuss out of fear of drawing attention, Lyria had asked the woman about it. Nathalia Poppyflower, as her name was, apparently needed some rare Red Vyrnroot for the Apothecarii so they could help treat Fleshmaggots. Even without monetary reward, Lyria couldn’t turn her back on the cause.

She listened to Kabar’s rant about being able to afford food himself, and his overdue tax to the Rhalâta. He seemed quite serious and was not open to changing his mind. Lyria stepped out of Kabar’s shop and considered her options. The man had to tire and close shop eventually. She could simply follow him later and discover his storage location. A lock was easily picked, and she could break in and simply take the root.

If she were caught, it would involve the Rhalâta gaining a negative opinion of her, and undoubtedly the dissolution of her plans with Tharaêl. She had to admit it wasn’t an outrageous price considering its rarity, and that someone had picked and shipped it. But it would be obvious what group had them, and that would just cause trouble between the shop, the Apothecarii, and the Rhalâta. Groups she didn’t want to have interacting at the time. Too risky to the Apothecarii and Tharaêl’s goals with the Rhalâta. 

Lyria considered what she was going to donate to the organization anyway, and figured 300 pennies wasn’t that much more than she’d planned on giving them next, so it was reasonable to simply consider it a donation to the Apothecarii by giving the coin to the merchant in exchange for the needed herbs. That way, nobody would come asking questions. She returned to Kabar’s stall, purchased the Vyrnroot and thanked Kabar, who seemed surprised at her business attitude. 

She handed the Vyrnroot over to Nathalia, who looked dumbfounded. “What, how? No, it’s better I not know. Thank you!”

Lyria smiled to herself. “Hey Nathalia… if the Apothecarii are ever desperately in need of something, let me know when you see me, alright?”

“Of course. Thank you again.” Nathalia walked away with a happy stride. 

Lyria continued towards the Arena. Upon opening the door, she saw a hooded figure leaning against a post. She figured it must be someone trying to mug passersby, and started speed walking around him to look for Tharaêl.

“There you are. Ready?”

“AAAah- oh. Holy shit, Tharaêl! I didn’t even recognize you. Scared the shit outta me. You... changed?”

“Why do you think? We don’t want to draw any attention. If somebody sees me walking around with you, it won’t be the end of the world, but I don’t want to cause unnecessary problems.”

Speaking of unnecessary problems, Lyria calmed her racing heart and adrenaline after her startle, and regained her surroundings. “Right, right. That makes sense. But seriously, give a little heads up next time.”

Tharaêl looked annoyed. “Maybe you should pay better attention next time.”

Lyria felt embarrassed, which was not how she pictured the start of their meeting to go. She decided to change the subject. “Before we go dashing off again, what’s with that tree? People treat it like some sort of shrine, but nobody talks to outsiders for me to even ask.”

“Tree? Ah, yeah, sure. The people down here call it the ‘Weeping Tree.’ They believe that the Black Guardian, once a year, fulfills one of the wishes they write onto these notes. Superstitious nonsense, of course… they might as well send their wishes to the Blue Island Coalition.” 

“I see. Religion needs no proof or reason, does it?”

“Either way. Ready to set out?”

Lyria smiled warmly. “Yes. What do you have planned for us?”

“First a question: Have you ever heard of the ‘Night of the Blind Daughters?’”

“No, I haven’t. I’m afraid that as an “outlander” I’m not terribly familiar with the history or myths of Enderal.”

Tharaêl relaxed back against the post some more and folded his hands in front of his belt. “A massacre that took place twenty years ago. It was at the Farmers Coast, around midsummer. The farmers had just put out the lights after a long days’ work. Suddenly, shrouded figures showed up out of nowhere, with steel masks covering their faces. They broke into the houses and killed anybody who dared to stand in their way… And while they merely wreaked havoc on most of the farms, any family with a daughter between twelve and sixteen winters was less lucky. All in all, these masked people took ten daughters that night and carried them away. They were found one week later. They lay on the Penny Road, mutilated with their eyes sewn shut. One girl each mile.” 

“That’s horrible. I take it there’s not a lot of guard presence in the rural areas here?”

Tharaêl shook his head. “No, and the few farm boys who were there in time stood no chance. These masked attackers were assassins… as deadly as the Petrified and as brutal as Lost Ones.”

“Anyone ever figure out why?”

“To this very day no one knows. However, there are theories - do the names the ‘Black Libra’ and Jael Tannerson ring a bell?  The ‘Butcher of Ark?’”

Lyria’s face lit up with some recognition. “Yeah, I’ve been reading it as I come across them. For being a banned book, there sure are a lot of copies around. Though admittedly I’ve only found the first five books, just lots of them. Still looking for the second half.”

A touch of amusement showed on Tharaêl’s face. “Thing is, in this book he left behind, Tannerson claims to have been part of a cult called ‘the Black Libra.’ Even nowadays there are still scholars that deny its existence. But according to Tannerson, they see themselves as some kind of… counterbalancing power. They make sure that malice and sin - they don’t gain the upper hand in this world and that the scales of good and evil thus stay in balance.”

“So their motivation for murdering the girls was to keep some kind of cosmic balance? Strange.”

“Well, this is where it gets bizarre. Normally, the Libra only kills people who have already ‘sinned’...tyrants, rapists, murderers, and so on. Which is also why the attack on the Farmer’s Coast didn’t make any sense and still doesn’t for most people today. However, the Father has a theory.”

“Of course he does. Did he also have something to do with the Black Libra?”

“Well, he does have an avid interest in them. Let’s put it this way... he has dug up every little bit of information that there is.  But we’ll come to that later.”

“Alright, so what’s his theory then? Why did the Black Libra murder the girls?”

“Well, according to the Father, the Black Libra chooses their ‘sinners’ through the dreams of some kind of… ‘Holy Child.’ The dreams are interpreted by the Libra’s priests who extract the names and faces of evil-doers from them.”

Lyria blinked. The cult shit just got weirder the more questions that were asked. “Intriguing nonetheless. Weird shit. Continue, please.”

“However, the child doesn’t just see people who have already sinned. She also sees ‘evil in its inception.’ Thus, the Libra might decide to kill a boy before he becomes a tyrant or a girl before she gives birth to a murderer.”  He sighed, “I know, it sounds insane, but that’s what it is - but apparently the Libra fully believes in this principle. The child is omniscient.”

“Wow, and I thought the Rhalâta was culty. Sounds like a load of horseshit. They can kill whoever they want, and always claim righteousness because of their religion. Sounds like any other group of fanatical fuckheads.”

“Yes.”

Lyria waited for him to say something more, but he just stared at her. “I take it this was unusual by having so many victims that it stood out to people. So with these particular girls, what was their reason?”

“According to the Father, they wouldn’t have just been ordinary murderers, but ‘emissaries of the end.’ Whatever that may mean.” 

Lyria’s eyes opened wide. She pondered on this, and made a mental note to ask Lexil or Tealor about this Black Libra group. Maybe they knew something more about the Cycle that could prove useful.

“You recognize this?” his eyebrows raised as he cocked his head.

“Yes, I do. In fact, I’m  very  familiar with the emissaries. They are very real. You say this was only 20 winters ago though? And all the girls were from the same village?”

“Yes.”

She wondered at the meaning of this. All of the emissaries she knew of, including herself, were well over twenty winters, most of them over twice that. And they were all either from or had recently been in Nehrim. There was so much more Lyria wanted to know. Did the Black Libra taking action actually quicken the appearance of the Emissaries? How were Emissaries even chosen?

“Are you listening?”

Lyria looked up suddenly. “What?”

“You seem a bit distracted. Are you ready to finish hearing me out?” He sounded annoyed again.

“Sure. It’s just, this is surprising information. And you have no idea how relevant it is to… other parts of my life.” Lyria felt bad about being so vague.

“Well, deal with that later. As I was  saying …” Tharaêl crossed his arms.

“Right, right. So, what does this have to do with the Rhalâta?”

“Simple. The Father believes that the Black Libra knows the secret to transcendence. This is why he has been studying Tannerson’s books like a madman. Especially one in particular, in which he describes the initiation ritual he underwent to become one of their assassins… and I also think that this temple in the Frostcliff Mountains is somehow related to the Libra. Long story short, apparently the pages of Tannerson’s original manuscript describing the initiation ritual in detail were forcibly torn out. And the Father wants to find them.”

“Interesting. And I take it that's how we're going to impress him?”

“Right. And I happen to know the only person who might be able to tell us their whereabouts. A man named Qalian.” 

“Qalian...is he supposed to be the same one from the books?”

“Correct. He was also an assassin of the Libra and Tannerson’s mentor. In other words, an unscrupulous piece of shit that did nothing but murder people for decades.. The guilty and the innocent alike. According to the Father, he was also the one who orchestrated the Night of the Blind Daughters. However, that massacre seems to have been too much even for his rotten conscience to bear, because he left the Libra shortly thereafter. He took on a new identity and has been living as a beggar in the Undercity ever since. I saw him once...it’s no wonder that nobody knows what kind of monster he is. He has gone completely insane and drinks away every penny he gets his hands on.”

“Exactly. If we bring them to the First Seer and I tell him how I couldn’t have done it without you, he might consider hiring you for the expedition. That’s the plan. Not the best one, certainly, but...it’s all we’re getting.” Tharael’s voice betrayed a slight lack of confidence.

“Do we have any kind of backup plan if he doesn’t hire me?”

“If that happens, then we’ll need to improvise. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Alright. So, where is Qalian?”

“He currently lives in the communes...that is, if he isn’t in some whore’s bed in the Silver Cloud right now or getting hammered in the False Dog. I’ll let you do the talking - it’s unlikely that the First Seer will find out, but the more you actually help me on this mission, the more convincing our little story will be. Ah and, uh, one more thing: don’t go easy on that scum. He might seem harmless now, but remember what he has done. And remember that those ten mutilated girls on the Penny Road are just one more page in this man’s book of sins.” 

Tharaêl was obviously done talking, as he turned and walked toward the Undercity’s barracks. Lyria followed. She was intrigued by this mysterious man, biding his time for years hatching a revenge plan, for what seemed to be a very good cause. She wondered if there were still little orphans somewhere in the Undercity being experimented on, hopeless that anyone would ever come for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will persevere! I broke this up into three chapters for my own clarity. Working out prettying up the next two parts and posting those soon.


	8. Nailaq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyria and Tharaêl question Nailaq.

Lyria followed Tharaêl through the Barracks into the Marketplace. She looked around at the few people she’d interacted with, who completely ignored her and her new traveling partner. 

Until they passed Nathalia Poppyflower, who looked up and immediately brightened. “Oh thank you again, Sunchild! You’ve saved a lot of lives today!”

Tharaêl turned and glared at her. Lyria motioned for him to wait up. She turned to Nathalia, smiling behind her scarf and said quietly, “Nathalia, you’re very welcome, and I’m happy to help. But please, would you be a bit more discreet if I’m with someone? I don’t want to advertise ties to the Apothecarii, for their sake.”

Nathalia looked over at Tharaêl, who was waiting impatiently and made for a menacing sight. “Oh, my apologies. Of course.”

Lyria turned back to a puzzled looking Tharaêl, who cocked his head in silent question of the interaction.

“Don’t read into it. And that won’t happen again. Let’s go.”

As Tharaêl went to open the door to the communal barracks, they passed through Kabar Thorwall’s merchant booth. Of course he also had to say something.

“Back so soon? You’ve cleared out my whole stock of red Vynroots, but I’ll let you know when I get another shipment, mydame! Or shall I notify miss Poppyflower as your agent?”

Lyria cringed as she noticed several Undercity residents starting to look at her. “Ah, that won’t be necessary, but thank you. If I need to shop, I’ll let you know.” She looked up to see Tharaêl glaring at her again. She just shrugged.

They continued, Tharaêl leading her around the corners of the shanty sleeping areas, until they encountered a whore kneeling next to a sleeping man, the front of his pants undone and his flaccid member flopped out to the side. It was an uncomfortable setting for a conversation, but Lyria figured it best she hide her unease.

Tharaêl did not seem phased. “Well, look at that. Our friend has a visitor. Get out of here.”

The woman stopped rummaging through the man’s belongings and looked up, clearly out of her mind on dust. “What?”

Tharaêl assumed an imposing stance. “I said, get out of here. We need ten minutes. After that you can fuck all the men you want.”

The woman seemed to finally process what was happening. “I...of course, my lord. At once.” She then turned and left the area quickly to go advertise elsewhere.

Tharaêl glanced at the woman leaving then down at the man. “Interesting.”

“Oh, what’s that ‘ _my lord_?’” she snickered a little.

“Nevermind. Look at him...pissed like a rat. A miracle he could even get it up.”

Lyria decided not to comment on the stinking beggar’s sex life. She also noticed Tharaêl hadn’t moved forward to interact with Qalian. “So...shall I wake him up?”

“Well I sure as fuck don’t want you to cuddle with him.” 

Lyria laughed at that. She was definitely looking forward to working with Tharaêl. 

“And again, never forget what this man did. He may look pathetic, but that doesn’t change the fact that he orchestrated the murder of ten girls. Innocent girls.” Tharaêl then stepped back for her to do the talking.

She turned to Qalian. While she typically believed in treating beggars with respect, it was obvious Tharaêl was expecting a little more. So she hardened herself, and drove her boot into his back roughly to wake him up. “Get up, scum!”

“Wha...what? Who are you? Nailaq is tired. Nailaq needs...sleep.”

As he stood, Lyria had to stifle a gag. He smelled awful. She also took note of the strange markings covering his body, which seemed to go along with the story of him being part of a cult. She wondered at his name, though. “Nailaq? You’re Qalian.”

The man stuffed his genitals back in his pants as he casually started talking to them. “Qalian? No, no, no. Qalian is dead. You’re talking to Nailaq, his shadow. But why do you ask? Who are you?”

Lyria was accustomed to people being manipulative to get more information. If this man was once an effective assassin, he would know all the tricks.  She wasn’t having it, acting craziness aside. “Shut up. I’m the one asking the fucking questions.” Lyria noticed in her peripheral vision that Tharaêl’s face scrunched up in a hateful smile.

“Oh, of course. Nailaq understands. Meh, you. You remind him of Qalian when he still lived. So much anger in you, so much hatred. Qalian knew this feeling too well. This anger, this cold, rotten wrath...and then the dream came and showed him his calling. But he was so blind. He didn’t see where the road led him...only when those little flowers’ corpses lay dead in the dust did he see… see what he had done. What he had become. Now Qalian has been punished. He’s dead, and Nailaq deserves to suffer. For eternity.”

Lyria was pretty surprised at the freely given information. He must not fear anyone finding out information. “Eternity, huh? How long have you lived down here?”

“How long? Years? Decades? He doesn’t know. Qalian had a sense of time, Nailaq doesn’t.”

It seemed strange he chose self punishment over death. “So why not just kill yourself if you feel that much regret?”

“Ugh, regret. No, Qalian had regrets yes, but Nailaq isn’t worthy of these feelings anymore. Regret is a pure feeling, as is absolution, but Nailaq doesn’t deserve purity. So he hates...he hates himself, hates his pathetic existence, hates himself for all the suffering his old skin brought upon the world.”

It sounded like a pretty pitiful existence, but didn’t think expressing that would be helpful. “Right. So what’s your version of why the girls were murdered?”

“Why? Because the decrees demanded it. And the decrees don’t lie...they never did, and they never will.”

Nailaq certainly seemed convinced. Either he was trying to justify his actions or he actually believed it. “Oh, so even after bailing, you still believe in the whole cult thing?”

“Aren’t you listening? The decrees don’t lie! Those little flowers had to die, because if they had not, something terrible would have happened. Qalian knew, Nailaq still knows, but still it...it broke him. All their pain, their tears, their suffering, their screams… it was too much to bear, even for him.” 

Lyria tried pressing further, “You truly believe that their children would have been monsters?”

Nailaq crossed his arms. “The decrees never lie.”

“Hm, so the girls would have given birth to the “Emissaries” right? What’s so terrible about them that The Libra wanted to prevent their very birth?”

“How do you..how… Bah! The Emissaries would have destroyed the whole world!”

Lyria was a little intrigued at the variation of beliefs. “Interesting. I’ve heard otherwise.”

Nailaq crossed his arms again. “The decrees say that they destroy the world. So they do.”

She wasn’t sure how much she should reveal about her own knowledge, so tried probing a little. “Hmm, and what if you failed?”

“What, no! Those poor little flowers dying means that won’t happen.”

Lyria really wanted to know more about the Black Libra. “Maybe. How do you think they bring the end?”

“I don’t know! Qalian’s job was to follow orders. He did that well. Nailaq’s job is to be punished.”

Lyria was frustrated she wasn’t getting any more information out of him. “Ugh, whatever. So I’ve read some of Tannerson’s books. Enough to know that The Libra kills deserters. Why are you still alive?”

“I told you! Because Nailaq buried his old skin. The Libra doesn’t care about Nailaq, why should they? He’s vermin.”

Lyria couldn’t tell how much was craziness and what was truth. “Buried your old skin? So you, what, peeled off your skin to become a whole new person? How much have you had to drink?”

“How much? He...he doesn’t remember. He always drinks when he has the coin for it, he sniffs, and sometimes, when the people are generous, he buys himself a night with Ana. They’re the deeds of a coward, and he knows it. But the brandy, the dust, and Ana… they help him forget. Help him ease the pain.” 

The man’s life was truly pathetic. He could have tried making amends, learned some useful healing skills. But no, instead he just grovelled, begged, and got drunk. “Whatever. We’re here for the Lost Pages.”

“Pages? Naila...Nailaq doesn’t know what you mean. Now please go. Nailaq is tired and needs to sleep.”

Lyria was about to get more...persuasive when Tharaêl apparently lost his patience and cut in. “Alright, let me _rephrase_ my friend’s words: You’ll stop playing confused oracle and fucking tell us what we want to know - now. And then maybe, just maybe, we’ll let you live. Are we clear?”

Nailaq stuttered, “But...Nailaq just…”

Tharaêl drew both of his swords and assumed a menacing pose. “Are we clear?”

Nailaq knelt down and cowered. “Yes! Yes, sir! Nailaq understands. Please forgive him!”

Tharaêl seemed to smile behind his mask, and returned his swords to his belt, relaxing again.

Nailaq turned back to her. “So...the Pages. Yes, of course, the pages, Nailaq remembers. Qalian tore them from Tannerson’s book before the world could see them.” 

Lyria had figured out the reverse name spelling, and had thought it must be to protect his identity. But it had taken so little for him to spill everything, that it felt there was something else. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s with the whole Nailaq and Qalian thing? You’re Qalian.”

“NO!! I told you, I told you, so why are you not listening? Qalian is dead, don’t you understand? He’s dead, and Nailaq buried him! Oh no, he...he’s sorry. Please don’t hurt him. He will not raise his voice again.”

Again, Lyria was about to comment, but Tharaêl interjected. “Look at him… he’s gone completely insane. I’m guessing all this Nailaq talk is a way for his brain to cope with the guilt. He’s created a new persona without all the blood on his hands. That is, unless he’s lying.” 

Nailaq resumed his cowering position as Tharaêl muttered annoyances. “What, why? Why should Nailaq lie?”

Lyria figured she could continue asking him questions later, after they had what they needed. “Alright, be a good little shit and just show us where the pages are, then.”

Nailaq did not resist. “Yes. Yes, of course. But tell me, what do you want with them? You will not be able to read them.”

Lyria really hoped he hadn’t burned them. “And why is that?”

“Because they are written in the language of the Libra! Even Qalian could not read a single word of them.”

It didn't quite add up, as the rest of the books were written in the common language. “If the Libra has their own language that you didn’t even know, how was Tannerson, your apprentice, able to write in it?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? Because something else guided Tannerson’s hand when he wrote them.” 

Lyria was done probing for more information. He couldn’t answer clearly enough for it to make sense. “Well, whatever. I think it’s time for you to show us where you left them. Now.”

“Nailaq does not have a choice, does he? Alright, he will do as you demand. The Pages, he...he buried them, together with his old skin. He can show you the Pages. But tell him, mydame. If he shows you the pages, could you, well. Nailaq is hungry, Nailaq is thirsty, and has no more coin.”

Lyria paused, and glanced at Tharaêl, still glaring at her. If she was running this herself, she would have simply paid the man to lead her to what she wanted. But Tharaêl didn’t want her to be respectful. She took a breath and put on a front again. She would still be kinder than if Tharaêl was doing this himself. “Do you really think you’re in a position to make demands? Name change or not, we know know you for the fucking murderer you are, and you’ll be lucky if we let you live.”

“But-” Then he stopped. “Good. Good, Nailaq understands. And maybe you’re right; you treat him like what he is - vermin. Human waste. Come. Follow.”

And with that, the beggar turned and walked with a purpose. Tharaêl motioned for her to follow first, but Lyria wanted to do a cursory search of the camp and responded by holding up a finger and turning back. Lyria rummaged around the bookshelves but found nothing hidden there. She searched the small pouch next to his bed and found several bottles of Poison of Woe. Only one had any left in it. Lyria realized that Nailaq must have been consuming it himself along with alcohol. Violent past aside, it saddened her that he truly was trying to make himself feel like the most miserable person alive. She gave up on finding anything about the Libra or Emissaries, and turned to follow Tharaêl back to the Marketplace.

Outside Kabar’s stall, Nailaq paused and turned to Tharaêl. “Mysir, Nailaq has a question.”

“What?” Tharaêl sounded very annoyed.

“Your face, he, you seem familiar. Are you certain that you have never met Nailaq before?”

Tharaêl shrugged. “How would I know? Maybe.”

“Hmmm. Hmm.” Nailaq continued leading them through the Undercity. She looked back at Tharaêl, who seemed to be brooding a bit more. She ignored him and focused on Nailaq, as he led them past a sign for the Tarpit.

Lyria noticed Tharaêl tense his shoulders before commenting, “This is the way to the tar pit. Are you sure that’s where we’re supposed to be going? I warn you, if this is a trap…”

Nailaq seemed relaxed. “It’s not, mysir. Nailaq is vermin, but he knows when he has to obey. You can trust him.”

“I won’t. But fine.” Tharaêl did not seem to relax at all. Lyria wasn’t sure if the old man could be trusted or not, but seemed crazy enough to not be able to pull off his own plans for a trap. Unless he was being used as a pawn by someone else.

Nailaq took them down a dark tunnel. On the way, they encountered a Rhalaim who moved to block their path. 

“Hold it right there, old man - where do you think you’re going? You’re a little old for digging.”

Lyria tensed, ready to grab her dagger or blast him with lightning. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d hidden a corpse, but he was part of the Rhalâta, so she hesitated.

Tharaêl stepped forward. “He belongs to us. We’re acting under the Father’s orders.”

The man visibly straightened himself. “Brother Wrath...From ashes to blood, from blood to liberation. I didn’t recognize you. Forgive me.”

Tharaêl repeated the strange greeting. “From ashes to blood, from blood to liberation. Let us through.”

“Of course. Father’s blessings.”

Tharaêl brought his right fist to his left shoulder. “Father’s blessings.” Then he straightened and looked at Nailaq. “Keep going, scum!” 

Nailaq looked between the two Rhalaim. “Yes...of course.”

The three of them stepped onto the wooden lift, and Tharaêl started up the chain pulley system to lower them into the depths.  It was a long, silent trip.


	9. the Lost Pages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go after the pages and confront Nailaq.

After what felt like ages, the lift finally reached the bottom of the tar pits. The pungent tar odor filled the caverns. As they got off the lift, Lyria looked around at the workers. None of them were old. It must be a short life for the poor souls who work there.

They passed several more Rhalaim, but none said anything. Lyria looked over at a female Rhalaim chopping wood, while one of the workers rested. She wondered at the relation between the two, as it seemed a bit odd. Tharaêl ignored the scene. 

Lyria followed Nailaq through an old door leading down to more tunnels.

“Yes, yes we’re here. This is where he buried the pages,” Nailaq said.

Tharaêl looked ahead. “The deserted tunnels. We should be wary. There are a lot of lowlifes down here.”

As if on cue, they quickly encountered a group of thugs. Lyria brought her hands up automatically, lightning bursting out of them into the group. She watched in satisfaction as it jumped from one person to the next, even before they could attack. Then her eyes opened wide as Tharaêl ran forward. Into the bolts. She cut off the spell, but it was too late. Tharaêl took a full hit of the high voltage spray. He barely hit one of the ruffians before falling to his knees to recover. 

Angry, Lyria spewed out lightning to finish off the remaining three assholes attacking them, while moving forward towards Tharaêl, ensuring cover for him. Once the enemies fell, she geared up a healing spell in both hands and hit Tharaêl with it a couple times. She could feel her fever rising as she did so.

He stood up. “Thank you.”

Lyria was pissed. “Thank you? What the fuck was that?”

Tharaêl looked confused. “What?”

His obliviousness made it worse. “You just ran right into my magic! What, did you think that it wouldn’t hurt?”

He shrugged. “I’m fighting with swords. Hard to do much from a distance.”

Realization struck. “You haven’t fought alongside a mage before, have you?”

Tharaêl snorted. “I haven’t fought ‘alongside’ anyone before.”

“Well, I guess we have some learning to do.” Lyria was annoyed that he wasn’t aware that her healing him was going to take a toll. She also noticed Nailaq staring at them with an odd expression on his face, almost one of amusement.

Tharaêl glanced at Nailaq and got serious again. “Perhaps. Let’s go.”

As they turned to continue, an Oorbaya rose from the ashes of a wild mage. Lyria switched to fireballs, blasting it with one when she had a clear shot, as Tharaêl slashed around it. She managed to only singe his shoulder this time. He looked at her angrily. Lyria sighed, and gently healed him again, even as her fever rose some more.

He wordlessly turned to follow Nailaq again. She followed them up to the top of a set of stairs leading down next to a water well. Nailaq stopped and pointed down the path.

“There...back there. That’s where he buried his old skin. Please, mysir you...you need to take these last few steps alone. Nailaq can’t. He just can’t.”

Tharaêl looked at Nailaq suspiciously. “Is this a trap?”

Nailaq protested with a stupid look on his face. “What? No! No, of course not, it’s just...Nailaq can’t, don’t you understand? To see him, after all this time...no. Kill Nailaq if you don’t believe him. But he will stay.” 

“Hm...fine.” Tharaêl turned to Lyria. “You go on ahead.”

At least that solved the issue of him being in the way of her magic. She walked down the stairs towards the tunnels below, as Nailaq called out, “look for the skeleton! You’ll need to dig!”

Lyria cringed as their position was announced to anyone nearby. Tharaêl seemed equally annoyed, as he hatefully spat, “don’t shout.”

She wandered around the tunnels, leading them into some criminal’s hideout. Her lightning was very effective at eliminating the ones on the wooden platforms above them while Tharaêl took out the closest ones on the ground. She looked at him and smiled. “That was better.”

He looked less annoyed for a moment. “Even so, I don’t think this is where he was talking about. Let’s keep looking.”

They backtracked a bit, then went down a different tunnel. Which led them straight to another small group of thugs to take out. Lyria blasted the first one that rounded the corner, who fell before he could get to her. Another appeared, and as she started electrocuting him, Tharaêl just had to step into the line of fire to start slashing away. Lyria stopped again, but Tharaêl had already taken a large hit. The man he was fighting fell, but the woman who then showed up was able to knock him down with one blow. 

Carefully, Lyria threw lightning at her with one hand as she drew her dagger. The woman started running for her, weapons drawn. Lyria blinded her momentarily with a large electric blast to the face, then slashed her dagger across the woman’s throat, blood spurting all over her. She turned back to Tharaêl, and knelt next to him on the ground. She pooled the healing magic in her hands and let it pour over him. Her fever was getting uncomfortable, and she sat on the ground.

Tharaêl stood up, ignoring her, and surveyed the room. “Skeleton...hm, I’m not seeing anything. Let’s look around.” He looked back down at her and paused, taking in her appearance as she swayed slightly even while seated. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Healing magic...takes its toll.” She raised a hand, silently asking for help up. Tharaêl offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. Dizzy, she held onto his hand and closed her eyes for a few moments, until the feeling passed. “Thanks. Damn, I’m out of ambrosia. I should be alright until I can get some more when we’re done here. But, please, don’t jump in front of any more magic. I can’t keep healing you all day.”

Tharaêl sounded curious. “What happens, you turn into an oorbaya?”

“I think I die first. What happens after that, I don’t know. Let’s not test it today, alright?”

He turned away. “Fine. Let’s keep looking.”

They split up to search the room. She walked through the sweltering heat rising off the oil in the room, and noticed part of an old skeleton poking out behind a post. She called out, “Tharaêl, over here. I think this is it.”

“Let me see.” He came over to inspect her finding. “Yeah...that looks promising. Then I guess we need to dig. Come help me.” Tharaêl recovered a shovel and a pickaxe, and the two of them went to work. The heat radiating from the tar made her want to pass out with the fever, but she continued anyways. After a while, Tharaêl’s shovel hit something wooden. They cleared it off and dug around it a bit. Expecting to help, Lyria set her pickaxe down. Tharaêl must’ve sensed her weakness, as he simply squatted down and hauled the crate up by himself.

“Here we go...this must be it. Hm, pretty big for some papers. What the blazes did he put in there? And what’s that smell?” He knelt down in front of the crate. “Care to do the honors?”

Lyria knelt down next to him and pulled at the lid. She was expecting it to be difficult, so she nearly fell backwards upon it giving no resistance. The smell immediately intensified, and the sight of a rotting corpse shoved in the crate greeted them.

Tharaêl stood and stepped back. “What the - aw, shit.” He turned and stared at her expectantly.

“Well, and here I thought he was joking about ‘burying his old skin,” she said sarcastically, but apparently Tharaêl missed the tone.

“You mean this body is - ah, nonsense. You want to know what I think? This is probably just some poor sod that crossed this lunatic’s path at the wrong time. So he put him right into the crate with the pages...bloody son of a whore.”

Lyria kept staring at the remains. “Probably. Still, strange that he’d go through the trouble of burying the body. It’s not like another skeleton around here would alarm anybody.”

“Fuck if I know...we’re talking about a man who murdered ten girls in cold blood because his cult ‘ordered him to do it.’ I think you’d be well advised to stop trying to apply logic to his thinking.”

Lyria cringed a little at his harsh tone. “I’m not applying logic to him, just considering all the possibilities. Either way, I think we’ve found the pages we’re looking for. They even look intact, despite the body decomposing next to them.”

“Right you are. Come on, you take them.”

Lyria grimaced, but readied herself and took a deep breath, then leaned down and reached into the crate. The pages were stuffed into a random book that was covered in mold on the exterior, but had preserved the papers inside. As she picked it up, some human remains fell off the cover onto her arm and shattered into a cloud all over her. She would take such a long bath after all this.

Lyria stood up and nearly vomited. Between the fever, questionable meal earlier from Hiulda Ratsfeast, the tar, heat, and the human remains in her face, she felt extraordinarily queasy. Still, she needed to check that the papers looked right. She gently opened the book and looked at the torn sheets. They were indeed written in a language she had never seen. She gave Tharaêl a nod.

“Got them? Alright, back to Qalian.”

She wanted to talk further, but Tharaêl had already turned and was walking away, so she simply followed him. She wanted to just be done with the tunnels, and wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Qalian, or Nailaq, or whoever the fuck he was.

Lyria called out to Tharaêl, “Hey, slow down a little. This heat isn’t helping my fever at all.”

Tharaêl didn’t reply, but slowed down a bit. They walked in silence about half of the way back.

“You think he’s still there, or fled to the shadows by now?” Lyria glanced over at Tharaêl.

He seemed to consider for a moment. “If he’s in hiding, he won’t be hard to find again.”

Emerging from the old shaft, Lyria took in a deep breath of the cooler air with a bit of mist from the water wheel refreshing her, calming her fever slightly. She followed Tharaêl up the stairs to where Nailaq sat overlooking the mechanism, seemingly lost in thought.

“Get up, scum.” Tharaêl’s tone snapped Lyria back to attention.

Nailaq stood. “Ah, mysir. You found what you were looking for, didn’t you? He can tell by your eyes.” 

It seemed Tharaêl wanted to ask questions this time. “We found the pages and something else. Whose corpse is in that chest?”

“What? But...he told you, didn’t he? It’s Qalian. Nailaq buried him.” Nailaq then turned to face her for some reason, possibly hoping for more leniency from a woman. 

Tharaêl continued talking to Nailaq. “Are you seriously trying to convince us that that corpse over there is your... old self?”

Nailaq sounded almost desperate. “Yes. He said it before, didn’t he? Qalian couldn’t continue to live in this shell after what he did, so he shed it and gave birth to Nailaq. And Nailaq buried him...together with the memories.”

Tharaêl was not convinced. “Right.”

Nailaq looked back at Tharaêl. “You don’t believe him, do you? You believe Nailaq is lying. But it’s the truth, the simple truth. You two, more than anyone else, should understand.”

Lyria squinted, trying to puzzle through what he meant by that. Just because they listened to him rabling for quite some time, or that they knew about the Black Libra? Was there more to the cult that gave an explanation for this? She didn’t get the chance to ask any more questions.

Tharaêl scoffed. “Sure. Either way, we have what we wanted, and now it’s time for you to pay for your crimes, Qalian. It’s been long overdue.”

Nailaq started panicking. “What? But... you said that you would spare him if he’d show you the pages!”

“We said that we’d think about it, and guess what, I did. You’re a murderer, Qalian, and you’ve killed more people than I can count: men, women, and children. And you know what?” Nailaq flinched as Tharaêl pointed a finger in his face. “This whole act about how remorseful you are, I’m not buying it. Yes, you drank your bloody brains into oblivion, but ultimately, the only one you truly pity is yourself.”

It made sense that they couldn’t leave him alive. Too risky if someone else from the Rhalâta came asking questions. But still, he lived a pretty miserable life, and seemed pretty self aware that he deserved every punishment. Also, she really wanted to question him further about the Libra and Emissaries, or perhaps deliver him to the Order for them to question and decide his fate. But of course she couldn’t tell Tharaêl any of those things, so she decided on a different approach that she knew Tharaêl wouldn’t like, but might work to convince him to leave Nailaq alive. She reached out and touched Tharaêl’s arm. “You heard him. He regrets what he did and this life is his self-imposed punishment.”

Tharaêl glared down at her and shook her hand off. “It’s  _ not _ punishment enough. But fine.” He inhaled sharply. “As you wish.” He turned back to Nailaq. “You heard her, scum. Today’s your lucky day. You - “

“Letho.” Nailaq cut him off.

“What?” Tharaêl seemed caught off guard. He crossed his arms.

“Nailaq remembers! By the name of the Sun, you were in the Refuge orphanage! You and your friend, Letho!”

Tharaêl seemed a little taken aback. “What do you know about the Refuge?”

“He -” Nailaq sighed and wiped his forehead. Lyria noted the amount Nailaq was sweating. Might be the heat, detoxing from alcohol, or something else. “Back then, before the Flesh Maggot Plague, when Nailaq was still strong. The Qyranian woman who ran the orphanage gave him work. Don’t you remember? He carried crates, he cleaned the floor, he cooked!” 

“That was you? ‘Uncle Nailak?’” Tharaêl sounded oddly calm.

“Yes! That’s what you all called him, Uncle Nailak! By the Guardian, it’s...it’s been so long, but he remembers it all now. You and your friend, you were inseparable. Until…”

“You’re right. I do remember.” Tharaêl now sounded hateful again.

Nailaq seemed to detect the tone. “W...what?”

“You were there when they took us.” Tharaêl drew his swords. Lyria decided not to attempt reasoning with him. It wasn’t worth that much to her, and this obviously became very personal for him. He continued, “worse, you  _ helped _ them! What did she pay you, that old cunt, huh? Carrying crates, selling children to the Rhalâta...all the same, isn’t it?”

“No, what? Nailaq doesn’t understand, he only -” 

Tharaêl lunged forward with both swords, piercing them upwards through Nailaq’s torso and out his back. He kicked Nailaq’s body off his swords, then stood calmly and sheathed them. “Let’s go.”

Still processing, Lyria blurted out, “You knew him?”

Tharaêl glanced down at Nailaq’s corpse. “...Yeah. His face seemed familiar, but I just couldn’t place him.”

Lyria was certain she was missing a large part of the story. “Small world down here. And he worked at the orphanage you grew up in. The Refuge?”

“Yeah...we called him ‘Uncle Nailak.’ Sha’Gun, the matron, gave him work as a gofer. He wasn’t as much of a wreck back then.” Tharaêl laughed. “Can you believe it? A former serial killer working in an orphanage.” He put a hand to his head and took a deep breath. “Apparently that old cunt liked to surround herself with people as rotten as she was.”

Lyria felt bad for him. “I’m sorry. And Nailak helped sell you?”

“Yes. He’d been there the night it happened. One of us, Wilma, she refused to go. She screamed and kicked, but Nailak held her while one of the Father’s Voices gave her a sleeping potion. That fucking piece of shit.” 

There seemed to be a lot about Tharaêl’s youth that pained him. She could relate. “Wow. And he knew your friend, Letho?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, sounding slightly depressed. 

Lyria knew that it mattered much more to him than he let on, but wasn’t ready to talk about it. She let it go. She took a breath. “Well, it’s unfortunate he chose to spend his retirement like he did. Interesting choice to start at an orphanage though. It sounds like he couldn’t forgive himself for killing the girls. Worse though, he didn’t prevent anything.”

Tharaêl seemed a little curious. “What? How do you know?”

Lyria wasn’t sure she should elaborate. “Ah, nevermind. Just another job. So, what do we do now?”

Tharaêl looked as if he was going to ask more questions, but seemed to change his mind. “Well, as I said, we’re done here. Next, we need to bring the pages to the First Seer...which will, hopefully, encourage him to consider you as a mercenary for the expedition. But we’ll see. Before we do that, though, we need to discuss a couple of things. We cannot afford a single mistake if we want this to work.” 

“Of course. Though, maybe somewhere other than in front of a dead body? Someone could walk in here.”

“Meet me in my hideout tomorrow morning, alright? It’s a small, abandoned warehouse in the main cavern, right before the path up to the city. There’s an old poster of the theatre right next to the door, that’s how you’ll recognize it. ‘The Dark Corners of our Minds.’”

“Tomorrow?” She thought about it, and it was probably already mid morning. Neither of them had slept.

Tharaêl cocked his head. “Is that a problem?”

Lyria didn’t want to talk about specifics. “Well, there’s someone waiting on me for help with another matter. I’ve put it off since meeting you. It’ll probably take me a few days. Is that okay?”

Tharaêl thought for a moment. “I see. I don’t think that will interfere with our plans. The Father can’t do anything until he has the pages, and with Qalian dead, there’s no chance word will get out that we already have them.”

Lyria was relieved he wasn’t angry. “Do you have a time you’re often at your hideout?

“Late mornings, and for a couple hours in the evenings. When I’m not busy on a job, my post is usually at the False Dog.”

Lyria smiled. “Okay, I’ll meet you at the warehouse in a few days. I’ll see you then.”

“Until then. Oh, and uh...good work.” Tharaêl took out a scroll and teleported himself somewhere. 

Lyria looked down at Nailaq’s corpse, still warm with blood pooling around it. She sighed and dragged his body over to the edge of the wooden platform, dumping it among the rocks below. It would help hide him from anyone passing by, delaying the discovery. It seemed unlikely the Rhalâta would come looking, but if Tharaêl could track him down as a lead, surely the others would eventually. 

She had so much on her mind. About Tharaêl, and about the things he and Nailaq told her. She would make sure to write it all down in her journal to refer back to the next time she spoke to Lexil. She wished she hadn’t already promised her time to the Order, as she truly wanted to stay in Ark now and help Tharaêl. But, there would be consequences if she disobeyed such a powerful organization for too long. 

Lyria decided to use a teleport scroll back up to the main part of the city. The nausea was worth it if it meant getting ambrosia sooner. In her state, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to fend off more thugs if she were attacked. A bottle of ambrosia and a few hours’ rest were needed before leaving to meet up with Jespar. She figured he’d be upset about having to wait an extra day, but it also seemed like waiting was something the mercenary was accustomed to. Hopefully she could resolve the matter with the Aged Man and not keep Tharaêl waiting too long.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, glad to have that section done with. Up to this point, I never had a great sense of direction for the early parts of the story, as I started it much later. But, after this part was when it started seeming more interesting to me. Hopefully it gets better for you guys reading it too :)


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